


So Very Naked And So Unafraid

by Still_beating_heart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Because he's a wolf, Derek is so cheating at this challenge, Full Shift Werewolves, In The Woods, M/M, Naked & Afraid, On a survival show, Or not so much on the afraid part, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf) Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: ------------So how exactly did Stiles Stilinski end up on Naked & Afraid?As a fucking joke!  A joke!  That’s how!  Scotty thought it would be so funny to submit a tape of Stiles being Stiles and acting like some kind of survival expert and well, apparently his shooting in the dark style of survival passed the muster ‘cause um, yeah, here he is!------------A 21 day survival challenge?  Naked with a stranger?  Sure, why not?  Wait, why is said stranger so good at this?
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 92
Kudos: 517





	1. So Very Naked And So Unafraid

**Author's Note:**

> Brain during normal times: must have plot, must have drama, must have angst, must have all the warnings...
> 
> Brain during global pandemic: uh, plot? What's that? Drama? No thanks. Angst? Um, I'll pass. Warnings? Please no. 
> 
> I am not a survival expert by any means. So don't take any of these fictional theories as truths.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know what Naked & Afraid is, never fear! You don't need to! But it's a 21 day survival challenge that airs on the Discovery channel. The contestants are a partnership with varying degrees of survival expertise. They must be naked and they are only allowed one item to take with them for the full three weeks. They are strangers and they need to rely on each other to survive. They usually put them in harsh conditions outside of the US, but I'm just going with Michigan (UP) because I know MI so it makes it a little easier to write this scenario.

So Very Naked And So Unafraid

“Well, this is it. This is the big reveal,” Stiles smirks as he hops off the bed of the truck, yanking his shirt over his head and not at all getting it stuck on his nose, “get ready for,” stepping out of one shoe without any mishaps, “a blinding mass of white flesh,” the second shoe doesn’t go so well. And yeah, it’s weird to talk to a camera. But he’ll deal. That’s not going to be the weirdest part of this at all.

Nowhere near.

So how exactly did Stiles Stilinski end up on Naked & Afraid? 

As a fucking joke! A joke! That’s how! Scotty thought it would be so funny to submit a tape of Stiles being Stiles and acting like some kind of survival expert and well, apparently his shooting in the dark style of survival passed the muster ‘cause um, yeah, here he is! 

“Yay,” scanning his surroundings as he steps out of his shorts. He’s not going to be weird about being naked. He’s not! It’s just a natural part of being a human. And he has nothing to hide. Or be ashamed of. He’s just a skinny, pale, young man with lean muscles and the tendency to burn like crazy in any kind of sun. So, good thing they’re in the middle of nowhere in some random part of Michigan where truly not a soul exists because there’s no way they could. He hasn’t seen a house or a paved road in at least an hour. So that’s cool.

And it’s going to get cold as hell at night. And there will be bears. And wolves. So that’s cool too. But hey, at least no poisonous snakes and only one kind of poisonous spider. And ticks. Like a whole lot of ticks that could cause cool things like Lyme disease. And mosquitos. 

What the hell has he gotten himself into? 

“Time for the really big reveal,” he tries to wink at the camera but gets bit by a damn fly the size of a house and mostly just looks like he ate something sour as he drops his underwear, “it must really be a suck-ass job to be the one blurring everything out on this show,” shrugging and heading in the direction that they have pointed him in. Where he will find his naked partner for the twenty-one days in the woods without clothes and food and shelter and any form whatsoever of entertainment. Why did he agree to this? 

And maybe he should have prepared his feet for this, “ow, ow, ow, ow,” rocks and pebbles and roots that look totally innocent like they aren’t going to rip his baby toe clear off, but they are totally going to rip his baby toe right the hell off and eat it for breakfast. 

Shit, this is going to suck. 

He’s too busy stumbling over rocks and sticks to be able to watch where he’s going and when someone, probably his partner, clears her throat, it does not startle the hell out of him because it’s a very deep, very gruff, very rumbly voice for a woman. 

“Uh,” his eyes land first on a set of feet that are clearly made out of leather and clearly this guy prepared for this by walking around barefoot for his entire life. And it’s definitely a guy judging by the dark hair covering his legs. Either that or it’s a very thick-calved woman who hasn’t shaved, like, ever. Which is all well and good with Stiles, everyone is entitled to be who they are and be comfortable with it, but oh. Oh, that is, okay, wow, that guy’s blur is going to be…

“Uh,” because he didn’t already open with that, “holy abs.”

And the world is so against him. So totally against him. It’s supposed to be one man and one woman. Alone and naked. And not that he really cares, he wasn’t looking for a woman to get along with or cuddle with or like some weird first date that turns into a twenty-one night stand nightmare because well, Stiles doesn’t date women anymore. So yeah, a woman would have been preferable in this situation when he’s not supposed to be distracted by his partner’s body. He’s supposed to be surviving in the wild. Not staring at, “how many are there?” there’s way more than six, “wow you should just be the chart for the muscles in the human body,” he’s stuck on his chest now. At least he made it past his dick quickly, that would be awkward if he was stuck staring at the guy’s dick. That’s just not something he’s going to do. It’s not!

Isn’t that cute? The little red flush rising from his chest, up his neck. 

“Uh sorry,” dragging his toe through the dirt, hand darting out from his side to not jab the guy in the chest because he totally stopped further away than that, allowing him the personal space that he will allow him for the entire challenge. And he doesn’t have to pull his hand away now to give him the room to reach out and shake his and, “eyes,” he has eyes. And they’re, what the hell color are those eyes?, “up here buddy,” wow. As if it’s not fair enough that he’s got a body of a fucking Greek god or something, he’s also got a ridiculously gorgeous face to top it all off. What the hell did Stiles do in a previous life to deserve this torture? Clearly something bad. Something very, very bad.

“Derek,” like he’s totally unaffected by all the things that Stiles has accomplished in the whole thirty seconds since laying eyes on this guy.

Oh, isn’t his hand all big and warm and his shake is assuring and confident and his eyes are staying on Stiles’ with a totally unreadable expression, isn’t that just cute? 

“Stiles,” he at least knows his own name. Willing himself to give this guy a real handshake instead of a dead fish. His mouth is doing enough dead fish impressions, the rest of him does not need to join in. 

“Shall we?” he sweeps his hand to the side, where if Stiles could peel his eyes off the guy’s face, he’d be able to see that, no doubt, their little burlap bags are. 

“We shall,” he hears himself respond probably two hours later. And only looks away because the guy moves. Pushing his fingers out of Stiles’ grip. That’s cool, he’s still holding onto the handshake. Great first impression he’s making all around.

“Okay,” he’s got both bags in his hand, extending one towards Stiles, “looks like you’ve got the map.”

“Okay,” it totally doesn’t squeak but when the bag is draped over his still extended hand, it at least brings him back to the moment. The moment where he is totally naked and totally unafraid. Totally. Well, he’s definitely in over his head on this whole survival thing, but at least his partner could rip apart a black bear with his bare hands. Holy shit. 

He unrolls the map, he knows he does, because he’s looking at it. In his hands. And Derek is looking at it too. And it is taking a significant amount of energy to keep all of the blood in all the right places in his body and not let it all drain south. 

Even his hands are beautiful. Life is a bitch. He points at a little body of water, “we could hike in there pretty easily and get a shelter built before nightfall.”

“Yep, exactly what I was thinking. That is,” free hand rising to scratch his head, “exactly what I was thinking.”

“Where there’s a body of water, there’s a tributary. It shouldn’t be hard to find clean water. We’ll have black bears but they’ll probably leave us alone as long as we don’t get between a mother and her cubs. Wolves, but we’ll watch for tracks. A lone wolf won’t be much of a threat but a whole pack would be.”

“Indeed,” a deep breath and he’s just going to adjust his bag to cover his junk and hope that Derek doesn’t see the goosebumps rising on his shoulders.

“Alright, please tell me you brought a fire starter?”

“Yep,” rocking back on his heels and side-stepping just a bit to put some distance on, “sure did. I’m not much of a hunter, but fire. Fire, I can do.”

“Well, I am a hunter, so,” he shrugs and produces a hunting knife from his bag. 

A very, very, “badass,” hunting knife, “that’s gotta be custom made, right? I mean,” leaning over to get a closer look as he puts his palms flat and open in front of them to lay the knife down for inspection, “holy shit, that is so badass,” there are wolves carved into the handle, the blade is complicated and clearly designed for multi-use and someone who is familiar with it as a weapon and as a tool, “what’s this?” a design etched into the heavy impact spine of the blade, a triple spiral.

“A triskelion.”

“Like sky, earth, water?”

Shrug, tucking the knife back into his bag, “let’s move, make the most of the daylight.”

And with that, he’s walking into the woods. Well, he’s got the same symbol tattooed between his shoulders, so apparently it means something to him. Note to self: don’t ask naked partner any personal questions. Maybe. Maybe that wasn’t personal, “or like reincarnation? Stages of life? Phases of the moon?”

He is moving fast enough that if Stiles doesn’t get his feet under him and taking steps, then he will get left behind in short order, so, “shutting up now. And moving. You lead, Big Guy. I’ll just be back here, following,” and then under his breath, “not staring at your ass.”

———————

“The water is,” he scoops a handful, squatted down at the edge of a large puddle or maybe a small lake. A pond? Whatever it is, it’s clear water and Stiles is so thirsty he’s ready to drink anything, digestive diseases be damned. But Derek is carefully examining the water in his hand, sniffing at it, sticking his tongue in it, “we’d be better off finding the stream.”

“Roger that,” damn it. Damn it, he’s thirsty. But having a digestive explosion in front of this perfect human specimen would be insanely embarrassing. So no water for Stiles. It’s shockingly hot out for only being like seventy degrees in the sun but all this hiking and walking uphill trying to follow some kind of a rockhopper who feels no pain on the soles of his feet. And apparently also is not getting bit by the same wretched flies that are attacking Stiles’ ankles. Bastard.

“So what’s your day job?” because talking, talking is a distraction to all the thirst and the pain and the rocks jabbing into his feet. His very human, very pain receptive feet!

“Real estate developer.”

“You pave paradise and put up a parking lot?”

“Green,” he clears his throat, “green real estate. Environmentally conscious development.” 

“Oh,” ‘cause Stiles is bitter apparently when life hands him a man who is so unfairly carrying all the gifts of good looks a person could possibly carry, he’s got to be an asshole. Right? Good looking guys are always assholes. Good looking guy who is environmentally conscious, “so, uh, how exactly can you be green in real estate development?”

“Same way you can be green in all aspects of life. You know, reduce, reuse, recycle?”

Oh, he’s going to play that game is he? Stiles’ mouth opens to retort, but quickly closes again when Derek’s face turns and he’s wearing an amused smile. Oh shit, that is gorgeous. 

“Preserving and restoring structures that already exist. Making them more Earth friendly. I’ve never developed a new structure. I never plan to.”

Well isn’t he just so dreamy and responsible? 

———————

“Running out of daylight there, Big Guy. What now?”

So he’s basically dug a hole in the side of a small hill, a hole about the size of a twin mattress. And he’s built a lean-to covering the ground beside the hole in the hill. 

“Well, we’ve got a good vantage point of the valley here,” now he’s standing with his hands on his hips looking out over the terrain surrounding them. They’re on high ground, that’s for sure. The water though, where is the water that was promised?

So Stiles wasn’t completely useless in all this. He helped with the digging and found the right bark to fasten the branches with, and hopefully it doesn’t rain. He’s found the tinder to start the fire with and Derek is freakishly strong and pretty much could have just ripped a few tress up by the roots and dragged them over for lean-to. And he was freakishly fast about all of it. And doesn’t seem thirsty. Or dehydrated. 

But Stiles is pretty sure he’s dying of thirst. Even if Derek did most of the hard physical work, Stiles has most definitely lost all his water by sweating his ass off. And it’s going to get so damn cold when that sun drops.

“We’ve got maybe a half hour of light. I’ll head back down to the pond and get some water if you can get a fire started to boil it.”

Oh and his stomach is grumbling.

“There are grubs. You could eat some. While you gather firewood.”

“Grubs? Dude,” but he’s already gone. Making his way right down the nearly-mountain they spent half the day climbing and Stiles is so not going on a rescue mission if he gets lost in the dark on his way back up, “what exactly are you going to carry the water in Bear Grylls?”

No response. He’s starting to not expect responses from this guy. He’s the tall, dark, handsome, silent type. Unless he’s giving orders. Then he’s got plenty of orders to give. But, well, he sounds like he knows what he’s talking about, so there’s that. 

“I am so not eating grubs.”

———————

Stiles is the king of fire! He’s got a good roaring bonfire that could catch the entire forest if the wind picks up. Not really. He’s got a flame. It’s a flame on two little logs that he found that were the only dry ones and he totally did not eat the grubs. Okay, he ate the grubs. And they were so gross. Like so gross. He still can’t get the texture out of his mind. 

But he has fire. It is dark out. There are lions and tigers and bears. Minus the lions and tigers. Plus wolves and coyotes. Eagles. But eagles won’t do jack-shit to humans. Something is definitely howling. And that is not at all off-putting. He should have done some research as to the different sounds of the coyote and the wolf. That is something he should have done.

And it is dark out. He mentioned that. And Derek is not back yet. And something is howling. Oh he’s totally screwed now. He’s going to tap out. It’s one thing to be out here with Mr Tall Dark Handsome Who Knows A Lot About The Woods, it is another to be out here alone. With no one to talk to. No one who listens anyway. The fire is not much for conversation. Although neither is Derek, so… 

He’s at least mostly forgotten he’s naked by now. Except for the whole sitting down on the ground thing with nothing between him and it. And the whole mosquitos come out at dusk thing. Oh and the whole looking at Derek thing. Yeah, that. 

The world hates him. It so hates him. Why is he even here? He could easily just tap out. Maybe he’d be the earliest exit on the history of the show. That’s a title he could be fine with. Totally.

He pokes the fire with a stick, settles onto the bed thing that Derek dug out of the hill. And listens to his impending death by wild howling animal. Great, all he needs is a bear cub to fall at his feet. That’d be…

“Holy flying,” however that was going to be finished trails off into nothingness as his perfect looking partner enters the campsite, “don’t you ever knock?”

There’s a half smirk as a response, reaching out with a hand that is holding a hollowed out tree branch, and it is in fact, full of water.

“I found the stream,” gesturing to the west of them. And then he holds his other hand out, the orange glow of the fire revealing a rabbit.

“Uh, how did you get water and food that easily?”

He shrugs, sits down in the dirt across the flame and starts skinning his kill. Right there. And it’s so horrifying. Stiles is so not hungry enough to eat a poor little rabbit. And seriously how the hell did he get that thing? With just a hunting knife? How’d he catch it? There’s no way in hell he set up a snare that quickly.

“Did you cheat or something? Do you live here? Have you been vacationing in the vast wilderness of cold ass Michigan for the last month setting up hunting snares and scoping out the landscape for the best places to camp out?”

His eyebrows rise. But his eyes don’t. He is making seriously quick work of that rabbit. There is something visceral about it and something inside Stiles responds in kind. What the hell? Was this some kind of elaborate first date set up that Scott planned? Find the perfect guy for Stiles and pretend they both are competing on Naked & Afraid. So he’s stuck alone with him for three damn weeks in the wilderness. Trapped him with Stiles’ witty conversation and spasticness. That’s probably the only way he’d get past a first date anyway. Well, if this all works out he’ll have to send Scott a thank-you note. 

——————

“Rabbit good,” leaning back against the dirt at his back, patting his belly. Oh, he should probably cover his dick. He’s not insecure about his dick, has never had a reason to be, it’s like the one part of his body that has no tendency whatsoever to wander. It is single-minded as single-minded could be. Nothing like the rest of him. 

But, well, Derek is just lounged back like he’s got clothes on. There’s no showing off his junk, like he’s trying to shove it in Stiles’ face or anything, he’s just completely okay with being naked. He’s already forgotten completely and doesn’t even bother swatting flies and mosquitos and all that buzzing shit away. Well, now that Stiles is looking, it appears as though Derek is not having the same biting insect problem that Stiles is.

“Okay seriously, did you cheat? I can’t smell bug dope on you, but there’s nothing around you. What the hell dude?”

He shrugs, “insects don’t really bother me,” getting to his feet and stretching. And now his junk is eye level with Stiles. He’s so not staring though. And he’s not watching his bare ass while he walks out of the range of the fire’s glow.

What the hell kind of fucked up fate landed him here? With a guy? It’s supposed to be one man and one woman! 

“Are you moving while you’re peeing? Like drawing a line in the dirt or something? Wait, marking your territory? Is our whole campsite going to smell like pee?”

“No,” his head turns, just barely visible in the shadows.

“I thought bear liked the scent of all things they are not used to. Curiosity wins every time dude.”

“Stop calling me dude. And just, it’s different. No, we won’t both be urinating all over the campsite. And the bowel movements will be made far away from here. And buried.”

“Um, okay but busting out the technical terms isn’t going to make it less weird. Wait, so you’re allowed to mark your territory, but I’m not?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You said we won’t both be urinating all over the campsite, yet here you are urinating…”

“The perimeter. Just me.”

“What?” this guy has some serious alpha male issues. 

“I’m tired.”

“So you don’t have to walk away from the site to pee? That’s your excuse?”

“No. That’s me saying I am going to sleep now. Do you want the inside or the outside?”

“What?”

His eyebrows rise, taking the steps back over towards the fire and moving around to Stiles’ back, motioning with his hand to the bed when Stiles looks over his shoulder, “inside or outside? Outside has fire duty.”

“Um, yeah, I guess if you brought the food and water, I can keep the fire going,” tomorrow they will work on communication skills. And the whole not peeing in the campsite thing. 

But the guy does have a point. It’s late. And Stiles could really just fall asleep right here, right on the ground next to the fire, “I’m going to stay up for a few more minutes.”

“Why?” he’s sitting on the edge, making a little compartment in the wall for his knife. 

“Um, just,” hand rising to scratch at his head, “just not really tired yet. I’ll gather a few more pieces of wood.”

“No.”

“No? Look, dude, I get it, you know more about this shit then I do, but that doesn’t mean you can just boss me around, alright?”

He looks weirdly dejected, but just shrugs, “it’s dark out.”

Which, well, he’s got a point. And Stiles is a walking hazard sign. So if it can be tripped over in broad daylight he is going to trip over it and if it can be tripped over in broad daylight then it can be impaled upon in the darkness. So, really, “okay it’s dark out. But I’m not tired yet. So just settle in Big Guy. I’ll keep the fire going.”

———————

Maybe like twenty minutes pass before his eyes are rolling shut and he’s trying like hell to keep them open, the mosquitos have mostly died down or maybe it’s the fire keeping them away. 

His eyes drift over to Derek. He is sound asleep. On his side. Facing the fire. Well, he’s left enough room for Stiles’ body to fit but how is he supposed to play this off? Spooning is just, well, it would feel good. But it’s not really a good idea with a stranger. Sleeping naked with a stranger alone in the woods is not a good idea. Wow, this show is fucked up, isn’t it? But Stiles’ backside that’s not getting the heat off the fire is awfully chilly. And Derek’s body is going to be a hell of a lot warmer than the cold night’s air. So… 

No. Stiles has boundaries. He does. And one of them would be to curl up with a stranger who is all things genetically perfect, without telling him first that Stiles is not exactly a straight man. And who knows how he’ll react to that? Maybe he’s Mr Cool And Weirdly Charming until he learns his partner he’s alone in the woods with is fluid, or maybe pansexual. He hasn’t really put that much thought into it, he’s just Stiles who finds people attractive for who they are instead of what they are. Though, he’s not quite sure yet who Derek is, not truly, just that he’s brood and muscle, and apparently a provider. Which is cool. Environmentally minded business man with a lot of knowledge to live off the land. Which is also cool. Well, maybe he’s only attracted to him because of the situation they’re in right now. The whole Naked & Afraid thing, even if the afraid part hasn’t kicked in yet. Or maybe it’s only not kicked in yet when Derek is right here, because the guy looks like he could rip a bears throat out with his bare hands. 

Yeah, it’s totally situational. Very, very situational. 

And very much something he’s going to sleep on. On the ground. By the fire. And not crawl into that little spot Derek left for him that looks so warm. And so comfortable for being a hole dug into the side of a hill. 

He’s not going over there. He is not going over there. And if he repeats it enough times, it will be truth.


	2. Nature Or Nurture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lighter than canon Derek since his family is still alive. We'll say he's still had some not-so-great relationships in the past, but nothing like the canon ones. And since he still has a big old wolf of a secret to keep, he's a little slow to trust here too.
> 
> And we're going to have to ignore the wolf eyes on camera canon thingy.

Nature Or Nurture

The only reason Derek agreed to this challenge was because of Laura. Laura who signed him up. Laura who told him that the only way he was allowed to maintain his position in the pack was if he took this vacation where unplugging was enforced. Derek doesn’t like the buzz and lights and intrusions of contacts and connectivity, but it’s part of his job. A job that he takes very seriously and works very hard at. Maybe too hard.

He sighs, watching the ceiling of his den. Bed. Hole in a wall. He’s alone in it. So he must have done something wrong. 

Mom and Laura always say, ‘you’ll know it when you see it, when you feel it, trust your instincts,’ they say that about a lot of things. But the one thing he was starting to think was bullshit was mate. And it’s okay, they told him, if he never found a mate. It’s perfectly okay to be a bachelor forever. And looking at thirty in human years and still not even a tingle of the feeling of mate, he was settled for that. Knowing his job would be the place he could pour his full heart and soul. Knowing he could work the long hours and stay late at a job site, work alone like he prefers, work through the night, he could do that without worrying about what a mate waiting at home would think, how they’d worry, if they’d pressure him to make a home life and not just a work life. 

Damn him if he didn’t know it when he saw it yesterday. All pale-skinned, delicate and clumsy, chatty and nervous. His head sounded like a traffic jam as soon as Derek could detect it, his heart with this little flutter every other breath like he was tripping on nerves and he smelled like lemon water, a clear sign that he was anxious about this whole ordeal. The instincts kicked in. To provide. Water, shelter, food. 

It doesn’t take his wolf senses to know where the cameras are all located. Where it’s safe to shift and where it’s not. And he knows he’ll have to do all this in believable increments, maybe kill a squirrel with his knife on camera just so they see it. Sure, they’re supposed to have their cameras on anytime they leave the campsite, but last night. He heard his partner’s stomach rumble and saw the way his body curled in on itself. And his wolf reacted. 

Something he’ll have to be careful of. Control. Derek is good at control. In every circumstance.

This is no exception. 

His eyes blink slowly open, adjusting to the light, the human is curled on the ground by the fire. He’s at odd angles and he’s cold. If Derek couldn’t hear his heart beating, he’d think he was dead for the awkward angle of his neck. 

He’s just met him, and he’s already failed him. The den isn’t appealing, the food wasn’t enough, the water didn’t cut it. He’ll have to do better today. Laura would tell him to maybe try smiling. So when Stiles opens his eyes, he smiles at him.

“Oh holy god,” he startles back when his eyes land on Derek’s, “why are you watching me sleep?”

So, not smiling. Not smiling is preferable. His eyes drift to the fire and he sits up in the den, grunting out a, “I’ll go down for more water,” as he gets to his feet. And he will maintain his human form to do it. It’s broad daylight, the show’s crew is around, they stay close in the hours of the sun.

He listens to the young man while he walks away. He’s mumbling to himself about sleeping on a rock and how cold his backside is, and how bad he has to pee. Then he’s scrubbing his face and Derek hones his senses in on something else, allowing some privacy. He can still hear him a long ways off, if he tries, but he’s not going to. They barely know each other and Derek is not going to learn him this way, he’s not going to learn him when it’s by eavesdropping. 

He takes his time going back down to the stream. Using only human speed and only human reflexes. He allows his hearing to lead him to a few bird nests but he’ll only kill a bird if necessary. The stream is wide enough to have fish in it. He’ll have to sharpen a spear instead of shifting to make quick work of the task. 

Squatting beside the stream he cups water over his head, letting it drip down his skin. It’s still a little chilly but warming up quickly. Any other time of year in this region would be impossible for a human to be naked in the woods without getting hypothermic. Even in August some of the nights drop to the 40’s and 50’s. It’s not a problem for Derek but for his mate, not mate. Partner. His partner for a challenge. Not a mate. It’s a problem for his challenge partner. 

Shaking his head to himself, tipping his face back to splash more water from his hands over his chest, neck, he might get a little carried away with the splashing but the cold water feels good on his skin and the wolf is wanting to roll in it. 

“Aren’t you just a Davidoff Cool Water commercial,” a sardonic voice cuts into his bathing time.

If he had been listening he would have heard the branches snapping under foot and some slipped steps. If he had been paying attention to anything other than the way the sun was reflecting off the water, he would have scented him in the air. If his damn wolf hadn’t wanted to turn this into a splash fest, he would have felt him approaching from the moment he left the campsite.

Derek stands suddenly, feeling very self aware. But the smile that Stiles offers him is kind. He feels his own face responding just slightly before he turns his head away, even if everything in his body is wanting to watch. Watch the lean mass of pale flesh, the delicacy of his frame, expanse of which is lithe muscles and perfectly placed beauty marks. His fingers itch to trace over those speckles, so he blinks, and forces himself to focus on the sound of nature around them. 

“We should probably use the daylight today to reinforce the shelter, maybe build some walls for you, some kind of insulation on the ground. If you don’t want to share body heat,” he adds quietly, unable to meet his eyes, watching instead the squirrel hopping a maple branch. 

“About that,” Derek listens as Stiles splashes water on his face, his eyes scanning over to meet the back of his neck, his broad shoulders. The way the sun bounces off the stream and dances sparks of light across his skin. Forcing his eyes away again when that skin flushes under his gaze, “I’m not exactly a straight dude. I’m a lover of all kinds, shapes, and sizes,” the sound of more splashing, “so, if we share body heat, there will be boners that will be awkward for you and by proxy awkward for me. Namely my boner, so I don’t…”

“I don’t care,” Derek blurts it. Feels himself flush, and ducks his head. He wasn’t preparing himself for a female mate. He wasn’t preparing himself for a male mate. The physiology is never something that matters. It’s the way the mate fits into all the empty spaces that matters. The complimentary elements. Something Derek was fully beginning to accept as wolf lore. Even after listening to his sisters meet their mates and how it wasn’t some electric flare in the air, it wasn’t like the world stopped titling, it was just a natural need to be near, to protect, to provide. A body that carries all the scents and comforts of home. 

Derek runs his still damp hand over his face, well it makes sense that his mate would be a man. Derek’s not an alpha. Only the alpha mates reproduce in a pack. So Laura and Jason will be the only children of Talia’s that will reproduce. Though a part of Derek has always wanted children, he’s been a good uncle to his niece and nephew. Loves them like his own and always will. Wolves in nature disperse at puberty, usually branching off to a new pack. But the human side prefers family packs. 

His vision is dragged over to Stiles again. Even though he doesn’t mean for it to happen. Something in his chest flutters and his stomach swoops when those brown eyes lock onto his immediately, “you don’t care about awkward boners?”

“It’s the body’s nature. You’re a young healthy male and…”

“Okay Dad, let’s not have the morning wood and wet dreams chat, thank you,” he snarks, “it was awkward enough the first time. With my actual dad. When I was twelve.”

Derek shrugs. Thinking humans have strange behaviors regarding sex, bodily functions, and mating processes. They make it so much more complicated than it needs to be. Always the parent to child chats, and the sexual education in school. Derek’s never had an awkward moment in his life regarding his body or it’s functions. Everything that’s ever happened is just nature, biology. He’s always just accepted it as such and never been ashamed. Though his girlfriend in college made him feel insecure about his wolf nature, he never told her his secret, never felt comfortable with her enough to let her in on that part of his world; she always pushed him out of her neck when he would rub his face against her, and she never gave into the innate cuddling that he craved. There were plenty of other reasons they ended up incompatible, and if he wasn’t comfortable telling her about his wolf, then it was a clear sign he wasn’t ready for her to be his forever partner. 

He sighs, watching Stiles as he shivers in the warming sun. 

“I don’t know, dude, you might change your mind about the cuddling thing when I poke you all night long.”

Derek shrugs, fighting off the urge to have physical contact now. To get his mate used to feeling him, just his hands clamped through those pale, long, bony fingers at first. Maybe the feel of his closed lips against his knuckles. He jerks his eyes away, attention focusing fully on the stream now. A low hunger rumble in his mate’s belly, and the sight of a fish making it’s way around the rocks. 

Derek crouches, tilts his head to gain optimal line of sight. Stalks slowly over to the edge of the river. Willing the wolf to stay inside. Willing himself to stay fully human in appearance. But the reflexes and instinct. Those are the things he can give into. He can hear Stiles’ voice in the background, but he’s only paying attention to the stream, to the fish. He’ll have to be quick to grab it with his bare hands, but if he’s still human when he does it then he’s got nothing to be ashamed of. He’ll sharpen a spear later and catch twenty fish to feed his mate for dinner. A wolf can go for seven days without food and not feel the effects of it, but a human is different. A human male is still developing until twenty-five, and Stiles looks younger than that. Judging by the baby-faced smoothness of his cheeks and jawline.

When Derek lunges into the creek, a startled squeak exits his partner’s lips but when he comes up with a fish grasped in his hands, the startled demeanor turns to awe. Derek’s heart flutters as he sets the fish on a rock. Quickly offing it’s head with the hunting knife.

“How did you do that? Did you just seriously grab a fish out of the water with your bare hands? That’s, like, not even humanly possible, is it? But you know what? That looks like a good breakfast right there. I saw some blueberry bushes on the way down, so maybe we’ll have fish and berries for breakfast. Since you caught the fish, I’ll gather the berries. We could be a hunter-gatherer pairing. There’s no way I’m going to catch a fish in my bare hands, hell, if I tried to spear one I’d probably manage to spear my foot instead or something, and clearly you excel at killing things.”

Derek feels his face drop, wanting to explain something, anything about his nature that would make him sound like he was human. Fully human that could just channel his wolf whenever he wanted, which is true. Derek is a human. And he has control. Complete and utter control. But he might be cheating at this challenge. Though it’s not like the questionnaire or any of the waivers had any sections banning shifters from competing. And last night, that was an exception. That was a mate-driven exception to the self imposed ‘no shifting’ rule. 

“Killing things we can eat,” Stiles clarifies, “I feel like I lucked out on this challenge,” he claps Derek’s back, wearing a goofy smile on his face that maybe Derek should return the expression, but he didn’t react favorably to his smile this morning. So what he offers might be pinched and tight-lipped, “don’t strain yourself,” the kid is now looking at him like he’s not sure whether he lucked out or not, “shall we cook this glorious feast?”

Derek drops the fish into his bag, and starts the trek back uphill to their campsite. He watches every footfall in the dirt, every rock that pokes into the soles of his partner’s feet, hears every whispered curse at the contact. And forces himself not to look at his ass. He’s not even going to let his wolf have any say in anything whatsoever about what he wants to do every time he looks at it. 

——————

Derek attempts a third smile, and it feels pretty natural this time, when Stiles leans back against the hillside, a content look on his face, the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes as they land on Derek’s, “damn fine breakfast big guy. You know in hunter/gatherer societies they took a lot of naps,” patting his belly and adjusting his bag over his genitals, like he feels an obligation to keep them covered as much as he can, “a lot of naps.”

His wolf is preening at the sight of a happily sleeping mate, and reminding him that his den is nowhere near good enough. Though Derek is certain no human would want to sleep in a hole dug in the side of a hill, no matter how he dressed it up.


	3. Thunderstorms And Awkward Boners

Thunderstorms and Awkward Boners

This time when Stiles wakes up, there is not a ridiculously good looking man staring at him. It’s kind of disappointing actually. But, wow, yep that’s a ridiculously good looking man standing with his back turned to Stiles, head cocked to one side like he’s listening very carefully to something in the distance and only one ear works. Maybe he’s listening for his next killing mission. 

When Stiles groans, neck cramped to all hell, Derek slowly turns his head, meets his eyes for a weirdly deep examining of his expression. Then nods, and turns his focus back to whatever it was on before. 

So this guy has totally creepy appraising expressions but it’s almost comforting. Like he can read Stiles’ wellness meter just by watching his face for a moment. 

“I’ve been thinking about ways to build up the shelter.”

“Do you ever stop and smell the roses? Or pine trees and dirt?” Stiles drags himself to his feet, stretching and wiggling, arching until his back cracks, “that is exactly what I needed.”

“Without certainty of our food supply, we should use our energy wisely while we have it. Get the shelter built up properly. We have a good, sustainable water source. I’ll sharpen a spear later to make fishing easier. We could set up a few snares for rabbits. Between those and the berries we should have a good food supply for the time we’re here, but we never take more than we need.”

It hasn’t gone unnoticed that Derek has been passing off more of the rations towards Stiles than he’s keeping for himself. And while Stiles appreciates it, he’s going to have to find a polite way to turn it down since that big hunk of meat needs a lot more fuel than Stiles’ skinny and mostly lazy body does. The dude can probably benchpress cars, it takes a lot to fuel that. Stiles on the other hand? Computer games and late night studying don’t require nearly as many calories. 

“Solid point there Derek,” Stiles does something with his hand, a general flailing to illustrate a solid point going to Derek, “Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Derek what?”

“Hale.”

“Sturdy. Sturdy name for a sturdy fellow.”

“You?”

“Sturdy? Not really. Reliable? Yes.”

When he turns his head, he has a very unimpressed brow, “last name?”

“Oh that. I knew that was what you meant. Stilinski. Yes, Stiles Stilinski, insert joke here. It’s not my proper first name, but no one can pronounce my proper first name. I couldn’t say it myself unit I was eight. And it doesn’t fit on those stupid standardized test forms.”

Derek shrugs, but it’s not a judging manner of shrug, it’s more of a ‘we’re all stuck with the things our parents gave us’, type of shrug without being dismissive. Maybe he only seems like he’s not being dismissive since his head is cocked to one side again, like he’s listening very hard to every word Stiles is saying. And maybe the ones he’s not saying either. Which makes Stiles wonder what this guy could possibly have for genetic baggage. 

Stiles sighs, feeling strangely compelled to just out it, tell him, much sooner than he’s ever told anyone else in his life, “Mieczyslaw. It was my grandfather’s name. And I guess my mom loved me enough to saddle me with it too,” he grins at Derek when his eyes land on him again. 

He’s expecting a, ‘I’ve heard worse’, or just a cringe like most, instead he gets a, “at least it’s a stupid name with family history instead of just a stupid name.”

Which, he has a point. Stiles absently scratches at his chin, “could be one of those stupid names misspelled to be unique instead.”

“Or that,” there’s a smile tugging at his lips before he looks away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ooh, please tell me your name is spelled wrong. Your parents knew you’d have at least one more Derek in your kindergarten class so they spelled it like Dare-ick or something.”

“With the hyphen?”

“Totally with the hyphen. Dare-ick.”

Okay, this guy’s smile is definitely something that does things to Stiles’ entire body. And not just in the perverted way. 

———————

By the end of the second day, Stiles is certain this living off the land thing is pretty damn easy. As long as he’s paired with Mr Tall, Dark, And Handsome With Poor Social Skills. But it just wouldn’t be fair if he was good at everything, so Stiles will take his weird (almost creepy but not quite) staring in exchange for his shelter-building, hunting skills and knowledge. 

But the problem with this whole situation is that it is so BORING!!!! There are only so many things a person can do. The itch to play video games, listing off in his head how many episodes of which shows he’ll miss while he’s out here. Not to mention worrying about what the hell his dad is eating while he’s away! 

And since Derek is not exactly Mr Chatty Pants, Stiles will have to fill the silence with something. Namely, weird noises, a lot of tapping, and as much talking as possible until he receives a death glare from his partner and then he just goes back to being silent. So silent. Aside from the tapping and whistling and generally drumming his fingers on anything and everything within reach. 

———————

By day four Derek has stopped glaring at him for all his restlessness. Stiles has never been this consistently hungry in his entire life even though Derek has had a lot of luck hunting. Stiles wants burgers, and fries, and everything fatty and gross. 

Derek shrugs, “you’re only craving those things because they’re addictive and you’re going through withdrawals from all the additives and processing.”

“What?! Fast food is bad for you?! Since when?!”

Derek has dipped brows when he looks over at Stiles, but when he sees the expression on his face, he lightens up some, blushes a tiny bit and looks away, clearing his throat, “it’s going to rain.”

“Uh. Okay,” cupping his hand over his eyes to scan the blue sky. Blue as blue could be. Well, except for that little grey way up high. 

“Tonight.”

Stiles knows the offer to share body heat still stands, and so far he hasn’t needed it. The shelter the guy built is badass. He’s starting to think it’s more comfortable than his bed at home. Or maybe it’s just Stiles’ natural ability to sleep anywhere at anytime on anything. But he’s been staying pretty warm at night since Derek built up some walls and a platform about two inches off the ground. 

He’s still sleeping in a hole. In the side of a hill. In the dirt. And every morning that ring of dirt caked to his skin is getting darker. Not that Stiles takes a moment or two every morning to look at his flesh or anything. And seriously, the beard. The beard is glorious. Stiles might have some peach fuzz by now, it feels thicker every time he runs his fingers over his chin, there’s even enough in a couple of patches to tug on when he’s thinking. Mostly thinking about what goes on in Derek’s head, let’s face it, there’s not much else to think on. Unless he wants to contemplate the meaning of life. And, well, since he’s sitting in the middle of the woods naked with some kind of demigod, he doesn’t want to contemplate the meaning of life. Not at all. He just wants to enjoy it. Maybe part of this whole thing was to get Stiles out of his head and into nature for a bit. And maybe Scotty wasn’t wrong on the whole, ‘communing with nature makes a body stronger’ thing. And Scott would know, since he dropped out of school last semester and took up with a hippy commune for a few months before he got lonely for video games and came crawling back to Beacon Hills. 

“How do you know that?” Stiles finally wonders. 

His arm extends, like he’s modeling for some ‘man points at sky’ thing, holy muscles, seriously. And the light just clings to them and the way the dirt is caked into the indentations of him, it just, it’s so hard to look at what he’s actually pointing at, “the sun’s halo.”

“What now?”

“That rainbow that circles the sun. It usually means rain or snow.”

“Oh. Did you take weather man courses in your spare time while studying to become a real estate developer?”

“Meteorologist,” he has the audacity to correct Stiles with a smirk, “no, just spend a lot of time outdoors,” crossing his arms over his chest again. Because apparently he’s shared enough for today.

And Stiles won’t push him for more. That’s not how he’s built. Except that’s totally how he’s built, “your whole life, or is this a more recent thing?”

Shrug, what the hell? When his hand comes up to stroke his beard, it actually has something to stroke. Like a lot to stroke. Like so much to stroke that Stiles wants to help him stroke it. He needs that, right? That’s a thing that wouldn’t be weird at all. 

“Grew up that way,” the fingers in the beard, loosening a few knots is just plain old distracting. And he’s going to have like a full-on biker beard, like a Santa Claus thing but without all the white hair, when this is all over.

“Dude you’re going to be full on Hagrid by the time this challenge is over.”

He does not need words to express the, ‘who?’ that his eyebrows are asking.

“Hagrid! Harry Potter! Come on, man,” throwing his arms up in the air.

“Like wizards and witches and magic?”

“And so much more,” and that is how they spend the evening talking about Harry Potter. And it ends with thunder rumbling in the distance, Stiles fighting off a yawn as he mentions, “you should read them. And then we should watch them,” as he drifts off into a very deep sleep.

A very deep sleep that is interrupted by a giant clap of lightning and wicked roll of thunder. He sits straight up in the shelter, flails only a little, or maybe enough to fall off the platform. The fire has already been protected. And Derek is hunched in his sleep-hole, with his knees to his chest. Eyes wide, staring at the fire and breathing deeply in a forced rhythm. Oh, and Stiles knows that measure of control, the whole ‘let’s fight anxiety to the death’ thing. 

So there are grown human men who are afraid of thunder and lightning? Interesting. 

Well, isn’t this some nice cold rain? Shivering immediately when more of his exposed flesh becomes even more exposed to the elements as he drags another piece of wood over to lay it across the fire. Holding his hands out in front of the flame to warm them for a moment, “I guess you were right about that rain.”

There is no response. He wasn’t really expecting one. And when he looks over his shoulder again at Derek, he notices his fists clenching and unclenching, his mouth is moving silently with words that Stiles can’t lipread. So he’s very much controlled enough that he’s not going to start to panic unless something else were to set him off. Like maybe lightning cracking a tree in half or something. Who knows?

Stiles was never afraid of the weather when he was a kid, but he had a healthy imagination which usually included monsters and sometimes ended with him curled into himself, backed against his headboard and shouting for his mom. With his fear bordering on love of monsters, came a lot of books about monsters and one he remembers is ‘The Monster Storm’ and he remembers it word for word. And the way it sounded in his mom’s lilting voice as he snuggled against her and listened to her voice rumbling in her chest as rain pattered the windows.

So he sits down next to Derek, and wow that is much more comfortable than he imagined a hole in the dirt being, and it’s warm in here. All of Derek’s body heat is trapped in this little burrow he has built for himself, well, he built it with the intention of them both sleeping in it, but the whole ‘really attractive man naked in bed with Stiles’ thing not ending well and making things awkward for the duration of the challenge is just too much to risk. Especially since they’ve been working really well, shockingly well, together so far.

And oh, wow, the guy’s body heat is just radiating off him. Stiles isn’t close enough to touch him and he can feel it. It is welcoming. And tempting. But no. Stiles is here to calm the man down, not touch him. A full body shiver starts at the tips of his toes and exits his mouth along with the opening line of ‘The Monster Storm’. He hears Derek’s breath catch just slightly when he starts talking but by the middle of the second line, he’s clearly listening and processing. So if he can hear Stiles’ voice over the rushing in his ears of anxiety and apparently thunderstorm fear, then this is a good thing. And Stiles will probably never run out of words, so Derek is in luck.

——————

Stiles didn’t exactly mean to fall asleep with Derek. But, here he is. Wrapped up tight in a ball with Derek’s knees bent into his, with that insanely gentle body heat pressed against his back, and some warm breath coming out in rhythmic puffs against his spine. Oh, and that awkward boner? Yeah. That is a thing that Stiles detects immediately when his sleep fog starts to clear and he takes inventory of where all the blood in his body is collecting. Yep, dick is the major one. 

He forces himself to stay relaxed, not make any sudden movements that would wake Derek. Internally talking himself through all the gross boner-killing scenarios he can think of. When he’s nearly there, when he’s nearly willed it away, Derek sleep twitches, his hold on Stiles tightening. And oh god, he’s going to have to start from scratch on all that boner-killing imaging. Like blood and gore and babies. Babies. All crying and snot faced and poopy diapers. But then his brain decides to add ‘but with the right guy…’ No, no thank you brain for that image of Derek holding a baby. A baby who is cooing and gurgling and the baby is so tiny it could practically fit in Derek’s giant palm.

No!

Old ladies. And their jiggly arms. And Derek helping an old lady cross a street. Damn it!

Baseball. Okay, there’s nothing non-sexy about baseball. Especially when it’s Derek at the pitcher’s mound. Was that a gay joke? Seriously? Well, he looks like a pitcher. 

He can’t stop the verbal scoffing at himself before he realizes he’s done it. And Derek shifts behind him. Of course he does. And Derek has his burlap bag with his knife in it, between his junk and Stiles’ butt. Because he was being a gentlemen. Derek, who would look cute with a baby, would help an old lady cross a street and… Stop! That’s enough already! Stiles slithers his way out of Derek’s warm grip. Stays seated on the edge of the burrow, mostly curling into himself to conceal what he can of the awkward boner, and why the hell didn’t he think of his burlap bag when he came over here last night?! 

Elbows to knees, scrubbing eyes and face with dirty fingers. Listening to Derek shuffling his position behind him. That was, that was a really good sleep. And judging by the position of the sun, it’s nearly noon. Yeah, that was a good enough sleep that the fire is barely even coals at this point, mostly ash. Wow, “that was some sleep.”

And why did that have to exit his mouth? Why? Not like some kind of cool, unaffected, casual, ‘good morning’, no! Not that at all. Someday Stiles will be a fully functioning adult with some sense of normal human behavior. But today is not that day.

“Mmm hmm,” and his voice is all sleep gruff and oh, that does nothing for the awkward boner thing. But Derek doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to move either. When he turns his head to peer over his shoulder at Derek, his eyes catch on the little shelf in the wall of his burrow for his knife. And his knife is in fact sitting on it. So whatever was in his burlap bag was certainly not his knife. So either Derek’s got a banana in his burlap or he’s happy to… ha, no! That’s lame. Either Derek’s got a banana in his burlap or a really huge raging awkward boner too! 

Two awkward boners don’t make a right. Or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if anyone here is named Dare-ick.


	4. A Star Nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though Derek's family is still alive, I'm going to keep Claudia's death in place.

A Star Nerd

“I’m worried about Derek,” he hears Stiles tell his camera from somewhere down the path, “he’s been withdrawn the last few days. More so than usual. Not that I know usual Derek, but Derek from the first few days of this challenge I guess,” he listens to his fingers combing through his hair, he already knows the expression that’s on his face without having to see it. 

Derek tunes him out, rolls over in his den so his back is to the fire. They told him what it would feel like when he found his mate. What it would feel like when his mate accepted him. How it would feel when they agreed to join their life to his. 

But no one bothered to tell him how it would feel to be rejected. And this combined with tonight’s full moon? It’s making his wolf want to tear him apart from he inside out. Give into the nature he’s surrounded by, kill just to kill not to eat. Drop gifts at his mate’s feet until his mate just gives in and accepts him.

But a human mate wouldn’t respond well to a dead animal being dropped at his toes. A human mate that doesn’t want Derek. He said it was a good sleep the other morning. And he seemed fine all day. But it’s been two nights alone in the den now. He thought after one night, after lying behind him and smelling him, feeling his body wrapped in his arms, nosing along his spine until he found a comfortable place to rest his face. He thought after that bond was made it wouldn’t be broken. Not with his mate. The way he looked at Derek that next morning, slightly mischievous and fully content. Derek didn’t do anything to make it awkward that day. 

He sharpened a spear and showed Stiles how to use it, even though he resisted at first, insisting he was going to stab himself in the foot on accident, but Derek knew he wouldn’t. He did slip off the rock and Derek caught him by the elbow, but he didn’t make him feel weird about it. Derek knows that humans aren’t given the natural abilities that wolves are blessed with. He’s never spent any time faulting them for it. It’s just nature. 

He smiled when Stiles caught his first fish, while Stiles flailed his arms around in joy and then refused to behead the fish when he said he’d probably cut is finger off on accident, Derek obliged and gave the animal the quick death it deserved. Derek is no stranger to killing, it’s the cycle of life. And his wolf has never wasted. The wolf never leaves left-overs to have a waiter dump in the garbage. The wolf has never allowed food to rot in the fridge. The wolf knows it’s limitations and never exceeds them. 

He passed off more of the rations to Stiles after they cooked the fish. Even though Stiles tried to pass it back, telling him he didn’t need fuel as much as Derek did. But Derek knows the wolf body is more resilient than the human. And the wolf can go longer without. Even if Derek’s human form is larger than average, the wolf is the only part of him that needs fuel. 

He listens as Stiles’ footsteps near the campsite, he stops long enough to put more wood on the fire. His presence near, close to Derek’s back. It pauses his heart in his throat and he fights the urge to touch him, to just reach over his shoulder and haul him into the den. Instead, he wraps himself in a tighter embrace. The line of control will be thin, brittle tonight. He needs space and he needs silence.

“I’m just going to go down for more water,” his voice is careful, just like someone approaching a fearful dog would be, “I’ll be back.”

He hones his hearing in on Stiles’ footsteps long enough to hear him walk down the trail to the stream. Knowing he’s made it without any difficulty. And he’s taking a seat next to the clear, running water. Cupping enough to splash against his face.

Then Derek tunes out. He turns to his internal wolf. Taking a deep breath of the dirt and pine needles, the ants busy at work, a few mosquitos buzzing by. There’s a squirrel running across a branch about a half mile to the East. A robin on the ground collecting worms. There’s a bear’s den about a mile to the North. 

Derek’s been marking their campsite, knowing there are wolf packs in the area. The wolves will stay away from a strangers’s scent. The bears would be curious by human scents, but not by wolf’s, his wolf scent can mask that of Stiles’ human scent. 

He listens to the draft of a bald eagle’s wings as it soars down from the tallest tree in the woods, the soft flap of it’s large wings as it loses altitude to scan the waterways for a meal. An involuntary smile rises his lips for a moment when he hears Stiles’ surprised squawk when the large bird of prey dives towards the small lake upriver of where he’s fishing. He listens as the talons and legs dip in the water, grasping a fish. Then Stiles’, “holy shit,” as it’s wings start repeating the pattern of lift-off. The eagle will take the fish to shore, will sit on a grassy knoll and eat it. It’s senses sharp, keen, and ready to fight anything that challenges it’s meal. 

He listens to the sound of his mate’s heart. A pattern he’s become familiar with in the last seven days. A pattern he has fourteen more days with. And then he’ll never hear it again. The internal whine makes his body tremble and he bites his tongue, sending a shock of pain to the wolf, reminding him that now is not the time. 

————————

Stiles comes back with two fish and a bag full of blueberries. Derek can smell them as soon as he’s near. He doesn’t bother turning to look at him. 

“I beheaded it myself,” he announces proudly, “but I don’t think I can filet it without some direction. So, uh,” he can feel his eyes on him. 

When it takes him long enough to respond that Stiles gets impatient, which doesn’t take long at all, Derek hears him plop his dinner down on the ground, hurry over and place himself heavily behind Derek’s back. Close enough to touch. It makes his stomach clench and his heart throb at the contact.

“Okay dude,” a hand that’s somehow still pale after a week in the wilderness, appears in his peripheral, lands on his forehead. He’s embarrassed when he leans into it. He hears Stiles’ breath catch, his heart pick up speed and the wolf wants to roll over and show his belly. Derek fights it, remains still, “you don’t feel warm. You feel okay? You should probably eat. That’s probably the issue here. Big guys need big meals,” his hand is lingering on Derek’s skin and he fights the wolf who wants to take his wrist between his teeth, toss it back to steer it to his head, his ears, his back between his shoulder-blades, “by the way man, beheading a fish with that badass knife was not that bad. It made me feel like a total man. Even though I know the weapon doesn’t make the man,” his knee nudges against Derek’s shoulder when he tries to jolt a fly off his ankle. Derek forces himself not to lean into it, not to seek the touch, the affection that his wolf is ready to kill for.

Instead, he pulls himself to seated, his body wanting to revolt, wanting to give in to the desire to shift, the tug of it is making him physically ache. 

“You feel alright?” his voice is low with concern. 

When Derek’s gaze lands on him, he nearly shakes his head, the polished river stone of his eyes is soft and inquisitive, worried, “I’m fine,” his voice is gruffer than he intended. Unsure of when the last time was he used it. 

“If you say so,” Stiles shrugs, his eyes not leaving Derek’s. He finds himself for the first time in his life fighting nausea as he cleans the fish. Fuck, if he knew what it was like to be rejected by the one person in the world that could make all the difference, and how dumb was he to believe in all that shit? And why the hell did he let Laura talk him into this challenge?

He’s filleting the second fish when a hand just appears in front of his face, fingers on his lips pressing until they part and a few blueberries get jabbed into his mouth. Warmth. From that place where the ghost of Stiles’ fingers are lingering on his lips. Through his mouth, to the back of his throat and spreading into his chest. Blanketing the nausea. The wolf twists inside him, and he opens his mouth without prompting when that hand appears with more berries. 

Stiles has no idea what he’s doing. He has no idea that he’s coaxing the wolf out of Derek with every move he makes. He has no idea that he’s comforting the wolf and responding to his mating offer. Derek shakes the want to rumble. His head turns to get a look at the man to his left, he’s greeted with a smile, soft earthy brown eyes, and his hand slides over to rub Derek’s hair away from his ear. There’s no resisting that, there is not a chance in hell he stands of resisting leaning onto that touch. 

Stiles has no idea what he’s doing. Derek reminds himself, and he reminds his wolf. Stiles has no idea what he’s doing to the wolf.

He resists turning, running his nose along the tendons on the thin delicate skin of his inner wrist. 

The smile turns shy just as his hand drops and his vision darts over to the fire, his hand fumbling for more berries from his bag. As the hand is rising, making it’s way over towards Derek, he interrupts, “go ahead, the rest are yours.”

“Oh,” the smile fades, he clears his throat and Derek has to resist the urge to nuzzle into him. A beautiful pink flush creeps up his neck, “well, I’m not eating all of the berries. So when you’re done cleaning the fish the rest are yours.”

“We probably have a week left of blueberries. We could scout more, maybe find raspberries or blackberries that are starting to turn,” steering the conversation into the business side of their relationship. Not that there is a personal side of this relationship. He knows that. And the feeling in the pit of his stomach is a clear read that his wolf thinks he’s reading this entire scenario wrong. 

“Okay,” he pokes at the fire with a stick, adjusts his bag so it’s covering his genitals. 

Derek keeps his eyes trained on the fish in front of him. Instead of the pattern the fire is painting on the pale expanse of Stiles’ chest and stomach. 

———————

“Good dinner,” Stiles leans back, arms folded, hands cupped behind his head.

“Thank you for the meal,” Derek responds, keeping his focus on the fire now. The hot white center, yellows and orange spreading across the backdrop of the night around them. 

The stars are different here, “we should be able to see the Perseids soon.”

“The what?”

“Shooting stars. A meteor shower,” Derek leans back on his elbows, tilting his head towards the sky, “Mid-August.”

“Cool. You’re a meteorologist and a star nerd,” Stiles teases, “think we stand of chance of the Northern Lights?”

“Maybe. Most active around the equinoxes but it’s possible.”

“That’d be sweet. I’ve never seen ‘em,” he waits a breath to see if Derek will offer more. Then, “you?”

“Yeah,” every year on the tails of the season shifts, the whole pack runs the coast. They don’t stop until they hit the cold reaches of Canada. He remembers last year tilting his head back to join the family song, watching the full colors that Aurora had to offer as he sang along with his pack. Welcoming the new season, thanking the Mother for all of her bounty. 

“Cool.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been far enough north to see the purples and pinks, blues, greens, little bits of white. Down here it’s most often green.”

Stiles is quiet for long enough that Derek turns his head to look at him. There’s a look of strange awe on his face and he’s just watching Derek like he’d listen to anything he said right now. It’s hard to look away when he has Stiles’ eye contact but he’s not sure what else to say so they get locked into a smiling staring contest for long enough that Stiles blinks, scratches at the back of his head and flushes, “so you travel a lot?”

“Sort of. Not really. No. My family takes two yearly trips north. But it’s the same route every time.”

“I’ve never really been anywhere. Just a California kid.”

“California too? Where?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” he shrugs, “Beacon Hills.”

“Wouldn’t of heard of it,” Derek scoffs, “I grew up there.”

“What?” his head snaps towards Derek, his mouth opens and closes in a really good impression of the fish they just ate, “wait a minute! Hale! Like the Beacon Hills Hales? What?! No! No?”

“Yeah.”

“No way! You guys were like Beacon Hills royalty, shit. Your mom was mayor for crying out loud!” he slaps his thighs, a spark floats across his perfectly round iris, “how did I not make that connection when you told me your last name? Man, what the,” he slaps his forehead, suddenly jittering with excitement, “you’re Derek Hale,” eyes wide.

Derek can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of his lips before he clears his throat, “yeah,” averts his eyes.

He hears Stiles swallow hard, wetting his lips with his tongue, “my dad’s the sheriff.”

Derek snorts, remembering in disbelief as the sheriff himself put his hand on Derek’s head to guide him into the back of his cruiser on prom night. He just so happened to be taking his break out on make-out point that night and when Derek’s prom date, she was a senior when he was a junior, she was popular and edgy; took him out there after the dance the sheriff tapped on the window immediately, passenger side, and told Derek, ‘I don’t believe your mother would want you out here past curfew son, let’s get you home,’ it had equally mortified him and somehow relieved him. 

“Of course he is,” Derek finally responds, “Stilinksi is probably not a very common name,” he feels himself flush at his own stupidity.

“Well, it’s not that uncommon, really, but sure it’s not like Johnson or something. So why’d your family move? The Argents haven’t been bad, the first year was rocky but they’ve been good leadership since, but man, your mom was the best!” 

Derek chuckles, a sound that makes Stiles’ grin turn crooked, “she is the best.”

“My dad used to drag me to the town hall meetings, and your mom was like a movie star and she’d always send me home with a bag of home-baked cookies. I loved the peanut butter ones the best but my dad liked the traditional chocolate chip ones,” his gaze shifts and he scratches at the back of his head again, “after my mom died, your mom would just drop off a big casserole every Sunday that would get us almost the whole way through the week. And sometimes she’d come down to the station in the summer and take me out for ice cream. She was the best, dude,” something in his voice goes a little cold. 

Derek wants to crack, he wants to spill it all right now. Tell Stiles everything. Why they left Beacon Hills. Why the Argents took over. He wants to tell him that Gerard found out their little secret, their pack secret and was going to out his mother if she didn’t take the pack and leave town. Gerard wanted power, he was never in it for the right reasons, “did Gerard, is he still…”

“No. He died. He was not good,” his body shudders and his hands flit out like he’s trying to shake something off them, “but Chris, he got elected mayor. He’s good, he knows what he’s doing. He’s not as good as your mom was, but he does right by the town and the people in it.”

“Good,” he wants to tell Stiles that his mom never would have left if it was her choice. And he wants to ask his mom why she never stayed in touch, why she just left the poor kid after taking him under her wing.

He watches the fire flicker for a moment before he gathers the strength to look at Derek again, “so, um, feelin’ better now that you’ve had something to eat?”

“Yeah,” he answers too quickly, but he can’t tell him the truth. He swallows it down, and plasters on a smile. 

“K, so um, that whole sharing body heat thing…”

“Still stands,” he offers immediately.

A flush paints it’s way across Stile’s cheekbones, “I mean, not that I don’t totally appreciate the shelter and platform you built, it’s just…”

“Cold at night,” Derek finishes for him. 

“Yeah. And I really want to make it to day twenty-one. Like, more than I thought I did.”

Derek’s wolf is ready to jut against the young man and wrap him in a fur coat, keep any threat of chill off his skin. But Derek responds, “me too,” though he had no doubts he’d make it to the end, with or without a partner, “you want inside or outside?”

“Whichever, but I guess there should be ground rules, ‘cause of the whole awkward boner thing,” he grins through his blush and Derek’s heart throws itself against his ribcage.

“Human nature,” he reminds him, sliding over to the den, pushing the hunting knife into the shelf and settling on his side. His back against dirt, pulling his bag over his groin. 

Stiles hesitates for just a moment, a spike of lemon scent in the air as he shrugs and sits down in front of Derek, “just body heat sharing. That’s all.”

Derek reminds his wolf of that as the warmth of his lean body meets Derek’s in the den he dug, “what are your ground rules then?”

Just to be clear, “um, shit,” he shuffles so he’s facing Derek, “it’s probably better to either be front to front or back to back, huh?”

“Whatever is more comfortable for you,” his arm is pinned under Stiles’ head and he couldn’t imagine a better place for it.

“Okay, this is how I’m gonna start out. But I’m a mover. So if I end up with my head down by your feet and my legs headed for the county line then don’t be surprised.”

Derek doesn’t respond. If he did, the only sound he’s capable of would be a content rumble. Instead, he drops his free arm over Stiles’ hips, plants his hand firmly on his lower back, letting the heat of the fire lick at his knuckles. And the heat of his mate melt his insides.


	5. All Nuded Up

All Nuded Up

It’s not a surprise this time when he wakes up with Derek’s warmth pressed against his back, but it’s still a shock. It’s a shock because that heat is so perfect and it’s so much more than just normal person-to-person contact. It’s just the circumstance, Stiles reminds himself. It’s just being in the survival scenario in a strange place that makes it easier to feel like this guy is not a stranger, and he’s something more than just some kind of super warm human blanket that doesn’t mind sharing his delicious body heat. 

This is not intimate! This is survival! 

Of course it doesn’t help that Derek’s snore is the most lulling, rhythmic, soft, soothing sleep noise Stiles has ever heard. It almost sounds like purring. If Derek was tiny and furry, it would be a purr. But Derek is, in fact, not tiny at all. He’s kind of furry though. In all the right ways. The scrape of his lower belly hair against the small of Stiles' back when he takes a deep breath as soon as Stiles moves, and oh, oh that is, the burlap bag somehow got all scrunched to the side and is half underneath Stiles and oh, that is, just skin on skin. 

Not making this awkward. Not making it awkward at all. It’s just body heat. And the body’s nature. And Derek is just a man in his prime with man-in-his-prime physical responses to body contact. Or a pee boner. A pee boner it is! 

Except when Stiles tries to scoot just a little further away, a tiny bit forward, the big hand that is resting possessively around Stiles’ hip tightens it’s grip. Tightens! And pulls closer, as if that was even an option. Closer! And oh, that is, wow. That is just a bare, hard, long, and thick… Stiles clears his throat, shuffles a little. So the shuffling was not a good idea. Wow. If there was just a little grind in here, just add friction and it’d be over so fast, maybe fast enough that Derek wouldn’t even fully wake up and he’d think it was a strange dream and it’d be nothing awkward ‘cause it never happened! (Not that Stiles would actually do that, non-consensual stuff is not cool).

Shit, the purring stops, he shifts his weight, it gets impossibly closer and that warmth, all the things holy, that warmth, and then he pulls away. But it’s not with a start, it’s just with respect. Well, doesn’t that just make it worse? 

“Mornin’,” sleep gruff and perfectly whispered against Stiles’ hair before he pulls further away. 

That hand though, that sneaky little (big) hand is still right there on Stiles’ hip. Sneaky, sneaky bastard pretending it’s still prickled with sleep probably, “good morning,” it so doesn’t squeak at all either. It’s totally not at all choked off with awkwardness and tension and all the things that having his partner’s rock hard boner pressed against his ass would do. Nope, not at all. 

Derek huffs out the smallest laugh, a tiny rumble in his chest that Stiles can still feel in the minuscule space between them. Is that an embarrassed chuckle? It’s hard to tell, but the, “sorry,” and his hand disappearing and taking all that warmth with it, adjusting the bag so it’s between the contact points again.

And this is Stiles’ cue to leave, right? Right. Very, very right. Except, Derek’s hand is landing on his hip again! It’s landing there, and his fingers are bending even if he backed up an inch or so, took that contact of chest on back further away even if the heat is still radiating off him enough to encircle Stiles in a perfect bubble of comfort. 

He must still be mostly asleep. That’s all. He’s mostly asleep and he’s just gripping Stiles and his mostly asleep brain has him convinced that Stiles is someone else. Like his girlfriend! 

“Stiles?”

Oh shit, “how much of that was actually spoken aloud?”

“I’m not sleeping. I don’t have a girlfriend. And if you’d like me to move, I will.”

“No!” clearing his throat and trying again with less desperation and fear of the actual removal of the body heat and comfort and holy shit, he should just attempt a pretending-to-get-more-comfortable-brushing-against-you-accidentally to see how he responds, but, “no. It’s fine. You’re warm.”

“I sleep hot.”

“You’re just hot,” smooth, “I mean, like your body heat is just at a different level. You’re like a big hairy heater.”

Oh good holiness, he chuckles. It vibrates through the bit of space between them and it rolls into Stiles’ head in some way that makes him want to memorize it. Hoarde it in that space between his ears so he can play it on repeat at all times. He presses his eyes closed and forces his mouth to stay shut, surely he’s about to stick his foot in it, “so, week one in the books. Officially,” that’ll work. Deflect from the boners all around and talk about the one thing they most certainly have in common that is not at all personal, “thirteen days to go. It’s doable. We’re totally acing this challenge.”

“Mm hmm,” okay so that rumbling business is not helping the boner situation. Derek is just one big rumble, it’s soothing and sexy and animalistic but like an animal that’s content and wants nothing more than to feed Stiles and keep him warm and sheltered and safe. Safe? So he hasn’t heard any of that howling again that he heard on the first night. That was probably the scariest part of all this. He hasn’t laid eyes on any bears or predators that populate the area. All he’s seen are birds and squirrels and all these happy enchanted forest creatures and he’s going to stop pretending they’re all the cast of Bambi before they kill another rabbit because rabbit tastes good and fish are fine, but rabbit, that’ll be the ticket out during extraction. The hike out is like eight miles. The terrain is rough, hills or maybe small mountains, there will be streams to cross and wetlands to navigate, then a swim at the end. 

“Might be able to take down a deer,” Derek mumbles behind him.

“Oh yeah? How you expect to do that? Got a bow and arrow somewhere? Or just gonna huff rocks at it until you brain it?”

“I have my ways,” it’s quiet, almost like he regrets mentioning it. Offering it?

“Sneak up on it and slit it’s throat? Hop on like it’s a donkey or something?” now it feels weird to be having a full-fledged conversation with Derek’s eyes on the back of his head so he can’t see the facial expressions that are coming with the voice and sometimes Stiles has a bad habit of letting the sarcasm turn into something a little more biting than he intended so it’s best to have the expression of ‘I’m fucking with you’ staring right at his target before he can make them feel bad. 

So instead of doing something a normal person would do, like sit up, Stiles squirms and pushes and rearranges until he’s facing Derek. He’s facing Derek and still half wrapped in his arms! And still mostly bonered up. So he’s not exactly a well adjusted adult type creature, but holy Hale, those eyes. 

He’s so soft. Like he was expecting Stiles to turn, and he’s not put off by it. And he doesn’t even care that they’re so close to sword fighting right now (unintentionally). His eyes are the whole of nature around them, reflecting right back at Stiles and it just kind of makes his breath catch. And now he can't remember what the hell he was going to say when he turned around in his partner’s arms but he’s going to need to reel back and get the hell up before he does something stupid like press his lips against Derek’s. Wow, that’d be stupid. And there are cameras. And kissing always leads to other things when two people are already naked. And there are cameras around. There are two just set up to be on them pretty much always, not that they can see directly into the den, but they can see the camp from two angles. And they have their diary cams that they’re supposed to have on for a certain amount of time every day. But, “woa,” or at least he’s pretty sure that’s what comes out of his mouth when the sun crests whatever it was hiding behind and glints off the surface of whatever the hell color that is, “pretty eyes.”

A smile threatens his lips, “thanks,” muttered like he has no idea how to accept a compliment, though he’s certainly been getting them his whole life. Those eyes are locked onto Stiles’ and they commence what can only be described as a comfortable staring contest. Like it’s just normal to lay in a burrow in the dirt with a mostly stranger and stare. This is exactly what Stiles’ life has become. 

He’s not complaining.

————————

Apparently it’s become their thing. Sleeping together all nuded up and then lying around in the morning staring at each other. It’s not weird. For as weird as it is, it’s not at all weird. Sometimes they talk. But mostly they just take some time to get the day started slow. It’s not like they have much else to do. They’re trapped in nature with nothing but each other and a challenge to live off the land. But it’s not been much of a challenge. Not really. Stiles has never been consistently hungry like he is, but they’ve done pretty well for food, better than any of the other competitors he watched on this show. He’s been damn lucky. Berries, fish, and fresh water. And a partner that is insistent that he can get a deer. He’s not sure how, but he’s going to. They’ve been talking through the logistics of it, how they could trap one, or if they could actually make a bow and arrow. If if Derek could really just sit still long enough in a bush and wait for one to come in, lunge on it and slit it’s throat. Stiles almost wants that one to be the option because that has so much potential to be hilarious. But also dangerous. If Derek gets hurt then Stiles is screwed, he’s not going to make it for long alone on this thing. Stiles isn’t good at being alone even in the comfort of modern society. Being alone in the middle of the woods? Not good, so not good. It’d be best if he could talk Derek into a different, less dangerous method of deer killing.

———————

He’s pretty sure Derek is taking this nature-man thing a little far. The way he sometimes crouches back and just looks at the sky like he’s going to tilt his head back and howl. And he’s so dirt-covered and hairy. The hair, it is so glorious. Stiles isn’t just talking about the beard either. All ragged and rough like an old cowboy. There’s something so incredibly feral about him, and it’s so incredibly sexy. He sometimes get a look in his eye when he watches small creatures, like he’s just going to tackle them and rip them to shreds. 

Why is that sexy? 

Stiles tosses a pebble at his foot, near it, not at it. Just to distract his intense focus on a chipmunk that’s chattering at him, like the chipmunk sitting on the branch above their campsite is taunting him.

Derek’s focus snaps towards Stiles, eyes narrowing. Stiles puts his hands up, “sorry, didn’t mean to chase off your afternoon snack dude, but you looked kind of crazy-eyed there for a minute. Maybe we should make a move to the stream and get cleaned up.”

His brows dip, lips purse, glaring for a moment like he can’t understand the words that just came out of Stiles’ mouth. He shakes it off quickly and gets to his feet, “yeah. We should do that,” before he takes off at some kind of freaky man of the woods speed that Stiles has yet to master. Guy just has some kind of natural ability to avoid all trip hazards, he moves like he’s walking on water, floating above all the obstacles that Stiles has to scramble over and around at a hectic speed to try to keep up. 

Derek is already in the stream by the time Stiles makes it down there. He pauses for a moment to watch the scene in front of him. The way the muscles in his back stretch and bunch around his tattoo as he draws water into his hands, lifting them to let it all drip down his face and chest. Cupping it into both hands, and scrubbing at his face, the top of his head, his glorious beard. 

Stiles reaches up to feel his own stubble. It might pass as a beard by now. Twelve days? He drags his knuckles across his chin, it’s totally a beard. His body hair pales in comparison to Derek’s, the one measly patch of chest hair he has is embarrassed to be around Derek’s perfectly placed chest and belly hair. At least he doesn’t have back hair. That’d be too much.

He suddenly falls very still. Stiles is pretty sure he’s looking at a photograph of a man in nature, not an actual man right now. His head cocks to one side. Stiles can’t tell where his gaze is aimed from this angle. Whatever his laser focus is on, it must be hella interesting, Stiles is about to clear his throat to remind him that he’s not alone out here. Before he can do it, Derek is off. Leaping through the woods, disappearing into the trees and bushes. 

“What the hell dude?” Stiles hollers after him, “holy shit that was fast.”

————————

Well, it’s getting dark, that kind of grey tinge where everything just looks like one thing out here at dusk. And something is howling. 

“Derek is not back yet,” Stiles tells the camera, “I’m definitely starting to worry and I hope you guys know where he is. Especially with whatever is howling out there.”

Stiles is not going to freak out though. He’s just going to ignore that tight knot of panic building in his chest, he’s going to focus on the fire, and keeping it going. He’s going to sing instead of listening to the howling creature in the woods. It echoes, by the way, the howling does. But he’s not focusing on that. Nope. 

He’s going to keep the campsite clean, he’s going to keep the place warm. And he’s going to sit here and wait patiently for Derek without panic. 

“Not panicking,” he reminds the camera, “safe here in this little hole in the hill. With my little fire going. Totally safe. And not… holy flying fuck!” he jerks out of the hole, stumbles around the fire, just barely missing stepping on a hot coal and he’s pretty sure he tries to hide and also run away and maybe fight all at the same time, wow he really needs to get his flight or fight figured out. As his eyes focus in the darkness and start to clear of the rush of panic waves, “oh shit, Derek,” his hand lands on his chest, willing his heart to stay inside, “a bunch of meat. Separately, that is. Not that you’re not meaty. Or that you’re too meaty. That just, wow, that is a lot of meat.”

“Deer,” he grunts, slinging whatever chunks of dead animal he has balanced on his shoulder, onto the ground near the fire.

“Deer,” Stiles agrees, two can talk caveman. His eyes follow Derek’s movements, his sudden and startling presence quickly becoming less startling and insanely comforting instead.

He squats down next to it, smears of blood on his hands and up his arms already, he must have made quick work of skinning and gutting it, “we’ll cook the top and bottom rounds for steak, the rest we can dry for jerky and it’ll keep us fed for the rest of the challenge.”

“That is,” his voice trails off when Derek’s eyes, reflecting the firelight back at him, land on his, “thank you.”

He shrugs, not acknowledging the gratitude, which actually really pisses Stiles off.

“Dude, I said thanks. And I mean it. This is like, way harder than I thought it’d be and you have made it somehow feel really easy. So when someone expresses their gratitude you,” his voice trails off, or is swallowed, swallowed is probably the better description. Swallowed by Derek’s mouth on his. 

And oh, holy Hale, wow, that is, he’s pretty sure he’s not breathing. Not breathing at all. And not kissing him back. Either. And that is, well, that is really stupid. To not be kissing him back right now. He just really put himself out there by diving right in, but damn, Stiles reciprocates. Very much. If only he can get his body to listen to his brain right now. 

Oh there it is, his hand moves first, landing on Derek’s arm. Wow, bicep. Okay. Usually people get so grotesquely skinny on this challenge but Derek is keeping them both pretty healthy. Stiles has probably dropped maybe five pounds, and now they’ve got food to get them through the duration. 

Second hand is a go. It’s a go and it’s landing on Derek’s chest. Feeling the thudding of his heart against his palm. Soaking it in and letting the calm of him, tingled with excitement, take over Stiles’ body as well. 

When his stupid mouth finally gets with the program, lips parting, tongue sliding out to meet Derek’s, the whole calm thing is no longer an option. Tingles race down his spine and his fingertips press into the flesh underneath them, feeling electric with passion and lust.

He feels like he’s being devoured and soothed at the same time, the way Derek is working him over with his tongue, hand steadying on his hip. Stiles isn’t exactly the most experienced lover on the Earth, but he’s had a few, and none of them have compared to this.

“Wow,” he mutters when Derek pulls back. Pulls back way too soon if anyone were to ask Stiles. But no one does. And it’s probably a legit time to pull back since dick tingles are happening and there are cameras, “oh shit, cameras,” tugging his bag to the front of his body. To which Derek only smirks, slinks back over to the deer meat and gets to work.

It’s not like Stiles is struck stupid or anything. Nope. That’s not it. He just wanted to, he chose to, stand here and stare. Yep, chose it.

Hey, the howling stopped! They’re not going to get eaten! Not tonight anyway.


	6. Meat Or Sex

Meat Or Sex

“So which one do I get?” Stiles leans forward, studying the meat on the fire, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Derek shrugs, “whatever you want.”

“This one top or bottom?” pointing at the chunk of meat nearest him.

“Don’t think it matters at this point.”

There’s a smirk on his face, something glinting his eyes that looks a lot like mischief that Derek isn’t prepared for, “you prefer top or bottom?” his eyebrows are wiggling. 

Derek just stares at him. He’s not sure how much more clear he can make it, At this point the meat is just meat and neither one is going to taste any better than the other. It’s not like they have salt and pepper or anything to make it more palatable but it’s going to fill the void and Derek is a wolf. He doesn’t give a shit what he eats or what stage of cooked it is, he just, “oh,” gets it now, “that’s a sexual innuendo isn’t it?”

“How dare you accuse me of,” his voice cracks into a laugh, it’s musical and sends waves of longing down Derek’s spine, “yes, yes Derek I’m am talking about sex now. Top or bottom?” eyebrows dancing around viscously and only intensifying as Derek feels a blush rising up his cheeks, “me personally? I don’t really have a preference. I like it all,” he winks and all his awkwardness just seems to melt away. 

Confidence in bed. Derek can work with that, “I suppose top or bottom depends on a few factors.”

“Oh yeah?” his tongue darts out, wetting his stupidly attractive lips, “and what are those?”

“Top is usually more lean. More tender.”

His brows dip, trying to decipher if it’s meat now or sex.

“Bottom is a bit tougher, usually requires more prep, braise it slowly in liquid until its fibers relax into tenderness and its ribbons of collagen and fat melt into the meat and make it succulent and moist.”

“Okay seriously,” he adjusts his bag over his genitals, “I don’t know if you’re talking about food or sex, or both at the same time now, but I’m listening.”

Derek drags his eyes away from Stiles’ face, pale even after the days in the wild, his cheeks mottled in a perfect pink blush, the heat off the fire licking at his chest. He shrugs one shoulder towards the meat, “bottom’s ready. If you want it.”

Stiles groans something that sounds pornographic and Derek doesn’t dare look at him. Taking a deep breath instead to calm his hormones and longing, sliding the bottom round off the heat and onto the plate of leaves to give it some time to cool, “enjoy,” he smirks at Stiles.

“Oh I will, I will totally enjoy,” his grin is crooked and ridiculous. 

————————

The den is warm, filled with body heat and their combined scents that make Derek’s chest thrum with contentedness. Stiles is watching him, through the shadow of the darkness, the flickers of light off the fire behind him, Derek has to be careful not to shift his eyes to get a better a view of him. His fingers are cool, but not cold, pressed against Derek’s chest. He’s getting much more comfortable in the touching. His bony knees against Derek’s keeping their crotches away from each other. 

The longer he’s in nature, the harder it is to keep his instincts in check. He wants to shift, run, and howl through the trees. He wants to roll in the creek and he really wants to stuff his face into Stiles’ neck and live there forever.

He clears his throat when the staring gets a little too intense, looking away, wanting to give him space, give him time to make up his mind. Just because Derek built him a den, has been providing food for him, it doesn’t mean Stiles is his. 

Fingertips meet his chin, drawing his gaze back to Stiles’ face. He’s smiling gently. He’s been quiet for a long time, not a long time for a typical person, but a long time for Stiles. It’s a little off-putting. There’s nothing strange about his scent or his heartbeat. He’s not in any kind of pain or discomfort. He might have a slight undercurrent of anxiety, which seems to always be there, even in his sleep. 

Derek startles slightly when his heart thuds hard, his hand darts out from his side, landing on Stiles’ shoulder to remind him he’s not alone, whatever caused the jump in his pulse, and oh, his lips are suddenly against Derek’s. The hard thud was anticipation of a kiss. He feels his lips curl into a small smile, must be what the silence was about too, before he melts into the pressure and parts his lips, granting Stiles the access to explore. 

He tastes like leftover dinner and Derek wants to lick every tiny flavor off his tongue, but Stiles draws back after a moment, “okay,” breathless, “okay. I need to stop, we need to stop. There are cameras.”

“Right,” Derek’s hand slides up the back of his neck, landing in his hair. He’s covered in mosquito bites, so it’s an easy enough excuse to scrape his calloused hands gently back and forth over the itchy, inflamed skin. Enough to scratch, not enough to break any skin. 

His eyes roll shut, “oh, yes, right there.”

Free hand rising, trailing fingers over his hip, up his back, mapping out the worst of the bites on his skin and paying extra attention in those spots.  
Stiles starts arching into it, like a cat who can’t get enough petting. His hand that’s still on Derek’s chest has started absently stroking and tugging on his chest hair. Derek hears himself rumble, before he can stop it. Freezing when Stiles’ eyes open. His breath catches, there’s got to be an explanation for that sound that isn’t the wolf yet, he can’t tell him about the wolf yet. It’s not time, it’s nowhere near time, and he’s not about to do it on camera.

Stiles’ grin derails his thoughts, his long fingers that are still on Derek’s face start with the tugging and scrapping through facial hair, the same way the fingers on his chest are, “don’t stop,” he urges, “your sandpaper hands are delicious on bug bites. Is it the hair? Is it the glorious body hair that keeps you from getting so bitten up? Is that the difference here?”

“Maybe,” Derek goes for casual but it sounds a little strained. So he clears his throat and watches as the smile on Stiles’ face only grows wider. 

He shrugs, “I like it,” giving his beard a tug to draw him closer, planting his lips softly, just a gentle brush of pressure against his, “k, bedtime big guy. It’s hard work watching you hunt and fish and build our shelter and I need to store up some energy for extraction. So quit talking already,” his eyes are dancing, Derek can see it even with his human eyes in the darkness. 

————————

Stiles is snuggled tight against him by morning, the heat from the fire being less intense, drawn down to coals. His back chilly under Derek’s hands. The instinct to wrap him tighter doesn’t get stifled. Stiles lets out a sleep-driven puff of a content sigh, burrowing that much closer. The next few nights will probably be cooler, Autumn starting to seep into the bittersweet drags of the final summer nights. Only a few more to go before extraction. 

Only a few more to go before it’s back to real life. Back to California and work, family, friends, and coworkers. Back to the sounds of more populated areas. Back to functioning in normal society. Derek takes a deep breath, lets the calm of his mate’s scent draw back the worry pooling in his gut. Not mate. He’s not a mate. Partner. For a challenge. 

He doesn’t feel himself tug Stiles closer, but he feels Stiles sinking into it, like he’s trying to become liquid and seep into Derek’s pores. He wonders if he’s always like this, if he’s always so easy to be around, if he’s always so open to the things around him. Or if this is a situational thing, he has no other distractions so he’s more receptive to Derek since he’s the only other person here. 

————————

Watching Stiles tilt his head back, catching sunlight in every dip of his face, chest, and flat belly. He’s basically serving himself up on a platter by baring himself that way, right here, in front of Derek. Derek tamps the urge to touch, pet, and nuzzle against him. Instead slipping into the slowly moving water of the stream. He’s going to at least attempt to get some of the dirt off his skin. He doesn’t mind it, not in the least, he’s starting to think that moving out of the reach of cities and technologies and people would be incredible. Fully embracing nature and the wild, allowing himself to shift whenever he wants and live off the land. He won’t have to worry about impressing anyone, or anything, he won’t have to worry about clothing or money. He won’t have to worry about anything but survival. 

“A guy could get used to this,” Stiles mumbles, as if reading Derek’s thoughts, “I thought it’d be weirder to be naked all the time,” he doesn’t even bother opening his eyes, “and I thought it’d be harder to be out here. I’d get homesick or something. Or I’d be hungry all the time,” now his eyes open, reflecting the dancing rays of the sun off the stream, “now I just want to find a nudist colony up in the mountains and live off the land.”

Derek finds himself smiling, it’s impossible not to when Stiles looks at him. 

His smile is returned as Stiles situates himself on the grassy ground beside the stream, “what do ya say big guy, we make this a yearly thing? Just get naked and do some deep woods hiking trip?”

He doesn’t answer, unsure of whether he’s sincere or not. If he’s just making plans that’ll never come to fruition. 

Expression faltering, eyes dropping to Derek’s chest, “what happens next? After extraction. I mean. Um,” he tugs a piece of grass out of the Earth, strips it quickly into two pieces, then three, “with us?” eyes darting up to Derek’s quickly and then away, stripping the grass once more.

Derek’s breath catches, unable to get past his mate saying ‘us’ like it’s a thing, a thing that he wants, a thing that isn’t just situational. 

“Wait, no,” after the silence drags on for too long, “don’t answer that,” a beautiful pink blush creeping up his cheeks, “that was,” he’s starting to get to his feet, “presumptuous and stupid to think there’s an ‘us’ and I shouldn’t have, yeah, just pretend that I didn’t say that,” he’s brushing some grass off his bare legs, his heart thundering in Derek’s ears to a point where he knows it’s painful in Stiles’ chest. 

Derek can’t get his stupid mouth to move, can’t get his damn vocal cords to vibrate in anything other than some kind of pitiful whimper at the sight of his mate walking away mumbling something about heading back to camp.

He’s moving without feeling his body doing it, zeroed in on one thing and one thing only, the sound of his mate’s heart beat, and the bitter spike of embarrassment in the air around him, “wait,” he’s close enough to reach out, so he does, taking a gentle hold on his arm.

Stiles stops, but doesn’t turn to face him.

“I don’t want to pretend you didn’t say that,” he lets his hand fall, sliding along lean biceps, dipping into the pit of his elbow, trailing down the veins of his forearms and into his hand, “I want to answer that question. If you’ll let me.”

His fingers tap, then tighten, gripping Derek’s while he turns to face him. His cheeks blotched in pink, his heart must be beating in his throat by now.

“What’ll happen with us,” he clarifies, focus lingering on those river stone eyes, “we, um, don’t live that far away from each other. So we’ll do weekends from time to time, or maybe every weekend if you’ll let me. We’ll meet halfway on Wednesdays for dinner or an evening hike. We’ll get to know each other with clothes on,” feeling a blush heat up his own cheeks, “and then we’ll get to know each other without clothes on, when you’re ready and when you’re done with school and you decide where you want to live, I’ll start over, relocate my business if…”

As he’s speaking he’s realizing just how much of his life he’s planned out with a kid who probably hasn’t even thought beyond what he’s going to eat when he gets back to normal society. Derek is talking about a future, a full one, while Stiles was probably just talking about a night at the hotel after extraction. He’s having trouble reading Stiles’ expression, he looks mostly shocked, and Derek has taken it way too far. It’s his turn to feel a spike of embarrassment and avert his eyes, clearing his throat and taking a step back, releasing his hold on Stiles’ fingers only to have his tighten and his arm bend, pulling Derek closer to him. He doesn’t stop pulling him until they’re chest to chest and he’s smiling when his eyes rise, “so this is a five year plan?” eyes sparked with something like excitement and maybe amusement.

“Well, I don’t…”

“Shh,” his free hand is on Derek’s lower back now, “I like five year plans. Should we shake hands like men or should we make out like teenagers to seal the deal?”

Derek’s fingertips trace down the length of Stiles’ spine and he feels himself smile, it’s impossible not to, “teenagers, definitely teenagers.”

————————

“They’re gonna have so much shit to edit out of here,” Stiles laughs, “a twenty-one day challenge narrowed down to an hour for most, but for us they’ll be lucky to find a half hour of footage that’s appropriate for cable television.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for last week's comments :) Even if I don't always respond to them, I absolutely adore having a full comment section on a fic! 
> 
> Also, I was terrified to write in this fandom, thinking it was too established, there were already too many amazing writers, everyone already had favorites and so much content - but you friends just made this my most subscribed to fic ever! Thank you so much! Feel free to share it, I don't have much social media presence (just a tumblr that I can barely figure out). And hit that little kudos button too, there's nothing like validation to keep a writer writing!


	7. Extraction Day

Extraction Day

“Extraction day,” Stiles plops his head on Derek’s chest, aiming the diary cam at both of their faces, “smile for the camera big guy, we’re almost out of here.”

He can feel the warm pull of Derek’s body, making him not want to leave this place, making extraction day totally bittersweet. 

“I can smell a burger and fries from here.”

“We’ve got a long walk out before then,” Derek reminds him, the rumbling in his chest is magnificent, a place Stiles could spend his life. He’s certain of it.

“And a swim.”

“And a swim,” Derek agrees.

“And it’s going to be cold. Talk about shrinkage.”

Hand tucking itself around Stiles’ pelvic bone.

“So all in all I’d give this trip four out of five stars,” the grunt Derek makes is possibly offended, “I mean, the host was great, he provided good shelter and lots of protein. It was pretty easy in the grand scheme of things to make fire. We haven’t had any run-ins with wildlife aside from what we’ve eaten and that chippy that has made it it’s personal mission to fuck with Derek.”

“He threw an acorn at me the other day.”

“And he raided our berry stash.”

“He’s challenging me,” Derek sighs, then his whole body goes a little stiff like Stiles is going to make fun of him for it.

“He totally is. I think he wants to make this house of yours a home for himself as soon as we clear out.”

———————

“All packed up, take one last look around at our make-shift home, and let’s skedaddle,” his hand lands for a quick tap on Derek’s shoulder, and if it lingers there, then that’s his own business. 

Derek finishes kicking out the fire, making sure it’s all out before they leave.

“Say bye to our…”

“Den,” Derek interrupts.

“It is totally a den! By the way,” he tells the camera instead of Derek, since Derek already knows, he’s been sleeping in it for twenty nights now, “this thing is way more comfortable than it looks. It just looks like a hole dug in the hillside, but it’s warm and it’s dry and it’s softer than some mattresses I’ve slept on. I’m not kidding, way better than a futon.”

Derek’s got a weird fond smile on his face, watching Stiles explain it to the people that are going to be watching this episode. 

“Alright, I’m turning this thing off, and now it’s up to the camera crew to follow my white, bug-bitten ass over the river and through the woods.”

And now Derek is probably going to be looking at his ass on the whole trek out.

————————

“Holy shit,” they come to a halt at the top of a hill/mountain thingy, looking out beyond them is a downward slope of pine trees mostly and some hardwoods, before it falls away to a rocky coast and a small section of sand beach, then a dark blue body of water for as far as the eye can see, “it looks like an ocean.”

“Minus the salt.”

“And sharks.”

“The way down is going to be slippery probably, so let me go first.”

“Are you implying that I’m clumsy?”

“I am, yes, implying that,” there’s a smile tugging at his lips, eyes reflecting the trees and sky and probably even the lake. Those eyes, they are ridiculous.

“I resemble that remark,” he puts on an affronted tone and swats Derek’s ass when he moves past him, “lead the way then Mountain Man.”

————————

Okay, Stiles is certainly not going to complain about the view. Watching Derek’s graceful moves down the side of the hill, the way his muscles work and how he can see every single one of them. If Stiles had any artistic leanings whatsoever, he would totally paint nudes of this guy. All day every day. Maybe he should take up photography. That’d be easier to learn, and he could very much get on board with taking nude photos of the guy. If he’d let him, of course, and he’s so damn comfortable in his own skin that Stiles is sure he’d let him. 

“I’m thinking I’ll add a photography minor to my degree. So I can take nude photos of you under the guise of art.”

Derek snorts out an amused sounding sigh, reaching back to offer Stiles a hand over a slippery rock face that he’s going to have to maneuver without falling on his ass and scraping the shit out of, “oh shit,” he totally loses his footing and goes for a ride on his right asscheek before he can grab Derek’s hand.

Derek scoops him up like he weighs no more than a feather, sets him down gently on some soft grassy stuff, “let me see.”

Stiles scoffs at him, just for show that he won’t be taken care of without a fight, but he’ll totally let Derek do it, “it’s just a scrape,” even if it’s burning like a son of a bitch.

“Yep,” his hand is on Stiles’ hip, pressing into his roll up to his side, “it’s just a scrape,” his fingers slide over the edge of Stiles’ asscheek, gently brushing aside some dirt, “you good enough to keep moving?”

“Yeah, jeez, it’s just a flesh wound.”

“It’ll be a pretty good bruise too,” his hand is out between them, offering to tug Stiles to his feet.

He takes it, of course. And doesn’t let go right away either. Actually he keeps it. For the rest of the walk out. It just fits there. And after twenty-one days with this guy, all day every day, he still hasn’t found a reason to dislike him. 

Derek’s finger slips across Stiles’ knuckle, urging the words out of him, like he was going to hold them back anyway, but he’ll blame Derek’s easy touches, “we’re going to have to come back, you know, ‘cause we never saw the Northern Lights.”

His smile is easy, turning his head to look at Stiles, “whenever you want.”

————————

“Oh my god, that’s cold. That is so cold,” he’s in up to his knees and has no desire to get the rest of the way in. It is that cold. And Derek is already fully submerged, pulling gracefully through the water.

“It’ll clean out your scrape, get in,” he hollers over the slowly rolling waves.

“I don’t want to get in! It’s cold!”

“It’s not that bad once you’re all the way in, just suck it up. We’re almost done.”

“Wow thanks for the pep talk,” he rolls his eyes to himself, glances down at his junk and waves at it, “I’ll see you next month little guy, I’m sorry I have to do this to you,” a deep breath that does nothing to actually prepare him for lowering himself into ice water, “oh no, I think I’ll see you next year little guy, holy shit,” he pushes off the sandy bottom and starts his way over to Derek. Muscles already screaming over the lack of food and the cold water, joints locking up quickly.

“Keep moving, it’s not too far of a swim, but you have to keep moving,” Derek reminds him. 

“Oh shit, it is so cold,” his teeth are instantly chattering, it’s even hard to breathe, “these bastards only added this little swim because they knew we’d have it mostly easy here without alligator and jungle cats creeping in our site like the rest of the competitors do. You going to do an XL challenge? You’d probably be good at it,” a small wave rolls into his mouth and he spits it out without stopping in his dialogue or really thinking of where he’s spitting it, “oops, my bad,” watching Derek squint his eyes at the contact of the spat out water on his face, “totally spit water in your face.”

Derek lets it drool right back out of his mouth, “yeah, in my mouth actually.”

“Is this water clean enough to just drink?”

“I wouldn’t chug it, but it’s not going to hurt you to swallow a little bit.”

“Okay good, ‘cause I already did.”

“I figured,” between the sun sparking the surface of the water, reflecting in Derek’s eyes and the brightness of his smile, Stiles is pretty sure he’s about to go blind.

“Definitely, definitely taking photography courses.”

He shakes his head, with amusement of course, “come on, we just have to head to the close side of that little island. Don’t get too close to it though, get washed up against the rocks or something.”

Stiles knows he doesn’t need someone looking out for him all the time, he does a pretty good job of flailing through his life without that, but it feels kind of good to have it. 

————————

“We’ve been saved!” Stiles grins at Derek when he sees the boat approaching on the horizon. Waving his arms wildly in the water, “just when I was on the brink of paralysis from the freezing ass cold water!”

“You were nowhere near,” his words get cut off by Stiles very gracefully and without any kicking Derek in the shins, throwing himself into his lips. Not for long though, the whole risk of drowning thing feels like a very real possibility right now.

“Hey, look at you all clean. Cleanish, anyway, I think it’s going to take a lot of soap to scrub all that off. But good for you, I know someone more than willing to do your back if you’ll do mine,” he winks. Or something like a wink, but really it probably just looks like he got something in his eye.

Derek grins anyway, his hands resting comfortably on Stiles’ ribs while he treads water. Good thing the water is so damn cold, awkward boners be damned, his willy is so shriveled up right now it doesn’t even attempt to rise to the challenge. 

————————

Derek gets on the boat like it’s just a step off the surface of something solid instead of moving liquid under his feet, then he reaches over and grabs Stiles by the arms, tugging him up onto the thing without giving him time to attempt denying his help.

“We made it! Ha! And no one died! And no one even broke a bone! Minimal flesh wounds and everything! We’re so good at this, we should definitely do an XL challenge.”

Derek shrugs, his smile dancing while he watches Stiles, “I don’t think I’d do too well in a desert or jungle.”

“So you’re only good at this because of the location?”

“Natural habitat,” he says at the same time, then dodges Stiles’ eye contact, takes a seat on the ledge of the boat, tugging on Stiles’ arm to do the same right before the driver of the boat guns it and takes off.

“Thanks for the warning,” he mumbles, “I’m so hungry. I’m going to eat until I puke. I’m going to puke. And then I’m going to eat until I’m sick. And then I’m going to scrub myself and you in the shower, you should keep the beard though. It’s glorious. We’re going to sleep in a real bed. A real one. With a roof over our heads. And blankets. And sheets,” he watches his hand reach out, slide through Derek’s beard to loosen a few tangles, “I’m going to miss it though. Being out in the middle of nowhere with no distractions and no sign of humanity.”

Derek’s looking behind Stiles, like he can hone all his senses in on their campsite, like he can see it from here. There’s longing in it, Stiles’ fingers tighten in his hair, “don’t you dare jump off this boat and swim back to the den.”

“I’m not going to,” he sighs, very put-upon. Which only serves to make Stiles laugh. Which only serves to make Derek blush. And of course it ends in kissing. Stiles is pretty sure it’s always going to end in kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more week and two more chapters left :) Thanks friends!


	8. Evil Plan To Take Over Derek's World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual Content

Evil Plan To Take Over Derek’s World

Stiles didn’t make good on his full promise. He didn’t actually eat until he threw up and then eat until he was sick again. But he is making good on the other half of his promise. Scrubbing Derek’s back. And Derek is very unabashedly leaning into his touch and groaning his responses to the feel of his hands and the washcloth rubbing, scrapping, peeling dirt and woods debris off him. Too bad that white hotel washcloth will never be anything close to white again. He’s also pretty sure it’s going to take multiple showers to get all the grime off. 

When his fingers trail over the tattoo, Derek’s heart flutters under his touch, “well, would you look at that, there is skin under all that dirt,” he teases, his lips brushing against the back of Derek’s neck when he leans in, “alright, switch with me. Your turn.”

They do the switching spots in the shower dance fairly easily for how much space they both take up, though Stiles probably has about ten pounds to put back on and Derek has lost about twenty. They did pretty well for themselves out there, but regardless of location and hunting skills they were bound to lose some weight. 

He takes his time soaping up his bare back, exploring every surface, tracing lines between beauty marks with his fingers, memorizing every one of them. He’s not sure when he’ll see Stiles again after tonight.

“So on our next date, I vote we go somewhere that I won’t end up covered in bug bites.”

“Agreed,” using the callouses on his palm to chase itch away without breaking the surface of his delicate skin, “you’re beautiful,” he hears himself whisper, watching his hands splayed on the luminescent surface in front of him.

“Aw shucks, you’re just saying that to get me naked,” turning his head with something that’s probably supposed to be a wink.

“Looks like it worked.”

He’s grinning, drops of water sliding down his face, slipping over his nose and into his mouth. Derek closes the gap between them, following the pure, clean water into his mouth with his tongue. When Stiles turns to face him, his arms drape over his shoulders, pulling him into the spray of the shower with him. 

“I’m glad we’re not in one of those places where we’d get sick from drinking the water out of the shower,” it’s half-mashed against Derek’s lips and barely translatable between kisses.

Derek hums his agreement, letting his hands trail over the lean expanse of his mate. Mate? Too strong of a word. Being out in nature might have allowed his wolf instincts to rise a little more to the surface then he normally allows, but Stiles never poked fun at him for it. A good quality to have in a mate. He feels himself sigh into Stiles’ lips, those lips quirk up into a smile against his and he mutters, “I want to jerk you off. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” relief flows into his voice.

Like Derek had any reason to turn him down. He’s been forcing himself not to imagine the way those long, graceful fingers would look wrapped around his dick since the very first day. 

He’s slow to progress, taking time to trace patterns down Derek’s back, grasping at his asscheeks, sliding over his hips and finally making contact with his cock that’s achingly hard already. He grunts something at Stiles that’s meant to be the same question he asked Derek a moment ago. 

“Good thing I speak caveman,” he laughs, pausing the kissing that’s rapidly turning sloppy with focus driven elsewhere, “and yes, Derek, you may touch my dick too,” his voice is a rumble against Derek’s mouth where he’s begun kissing his neck. The neck that Stiles is eagerly baring to him now. One hand gripping the handle of his pelvis, while the other wraps around his dick between them, falling into rhythm quickly with Stiles’ hand. 

A choked cry escapes those perfect pink lips as Derek’s teeth graze gently over his collarbone, “this is only the beginning. You know, I’ve had twenty-one days to let my imagination run wild with all the things I’m going to do with you.”

“Yeah?” watching goose bumps mottle his skin where Derek’s breath is flowing across the damp surfaces. He likes the way he said ‘with’ instead of ‘to’. 

“I’ll unleash my evil plan to take over Derek’s world. Step one: sloppy hand job in the shower. Step two: finding something else to eat before we make our way to the bed, try really hard not to pass out immediately. But we’ll probably pass out immediately ‘cause I don’t know about you, but I’m just,” it’s choked off again when Derek’s hand starts moving faster, twisting his wrist, sliding his thumb over the tip, “exhausted, on the brink of sexhausted, and you are just so,” his face falls forward, landing in the crook of Derek’s shoulder and his breath tingles against his flesh while his hand stills on Derek’s dick, the clutches of orgasm taking hold. 

Derek’s free hand slides back, landing on the small of his back to draw him closer, closer until he has no choice but to let go of Derek’s cock. Adjusting his grip to encompass them both in his fist. 

“Oh Hale,” it’s pitched, his body going tense in waves of pleasure while he tumbles over that ledge with Derek’s eyes pinching shut tight and following right behind him. 

He turns into human putty, draped over Derek’s shoulders, light bursts of breath against his neck.

Kissing a trail down the line of his shoulder, waiting until the water washes their shared orgasm down the drain before he turns off the faucet and reaches out for a towel. Stiles doesn’t bother moving as Derek towels him down. There’s an undignified squawk that exits his mouth when Derek grips him at the thighs and lifts his legs off the slippery floor of the shower. But he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his legs around Derek’s hips and tighten his hold on his shoulders. He also doesn’t hesitate to lift his head and start peppering Derek’s mouth with kisses, open mouthed, and aggressive. 

He deposits him in the middle of the bed unceremoniously. There’s an affronted noise that rises from his mate, and his hands reach out, making grabby motions in the air between them.

“Something to eat,” Derek explains, taking the steps away from him even though it’s hard to do, with that much clean and naked right there for the taking, if Stiles is hungry then Derek will find food.

————————

The hotel is a quaint little thing. Out on the edge of a tiny town, maybe not even big enough to be considered a town. The vast wilderness behind them, the lake in front of them. There’s a bar with a restaurant that’s still open. People milling about with the producers of the show, welcoming locals who are just surprised to see anyone who isn’t from around here, in this bar. 

Derek keeps to himself. Staying just long enough to get an order of an appetizer sampler to bring back up to the room. 

By the time he’s slowly pushing the door open, Stiles is sprawled on his stomach, still naked, in the middle of the bed. Mouth open, slack, and lightly snoring. Derek could easily eat this entire box of food, but he brings it to the edge of the bed with him, sits down and waits for the feel of his body weight and the smell of the food to wake Stiles.

It doesn’t take long. One eye opening first to examine his surroundings, then a smile twisting at his lips, eye closing again, “feed me. Too tired to move.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, lifting a fried cheese curd, pressing it gently against the bow of his lips, popping it inside when he opens up. 

“Oh my all things holy,” he moans while he chews, “fried cheese, that is, just, give me more,” swallowing and opening his mouth, eyes still closed, the movement of them beneath his lids hypnotizing. 

When the food is gone, Stiles pats the bed beside him, “sleep. Sleep is good Derek. You should try it. So you’re ready for step three of my plan. Blow jobs with gross morning breath,” a yawn interrupts his train of thought, hand turning palm-up and fingers waggling, urging Derek to grasp them.

He squeezes gently, watches the way the pale of Stiles’ graceful fingers gets shadowed with his own. He feels restless. The sheets don’t look comfortable. The noise is too much. he can hear every little thing. The listless thud of the air conditioning to the bar, the hum of the jukebox, the loud voices of the remaining patrons. He can hear the feet of the people in the room above them. The drip of the faucet in the next room over. The groan of the pipes down in the basement when a toilet is flushed. The whoosh of the pump as it expels the fluid into the septic tank. 

He reaches over to push the window further open, watching as the night time breeze lifts the hem of the curtain and splashes moonlight through the screen. It catches on the lines of Stiles’ back, making him seem like he’s glowing. Derek watches his hand, holding it over flesh but not touching, chasing his own shadow figure over the canvas of his skin. Not disturbing him with the wafts of air that he leaves in his wake. 

The smell of the grease congealing in the box beside the bed. The feel of it coating his insides as his digestive system tries to figure out how to accommodate that after three weeks of completely natural food. He’s always been someone with a good, healthy, natural diet. He’s never liked the effects of grease and fried food on his system. But the bar was the only option. 

He slides his fingers out of Stiles’, listening to the quiet protest that rattles in his throat. Taking the box to the garbage and closing the bathroom door to leave the scent behind. He checks the lock on the door. He listens to the footsteps in the hallway, walking beyond their door to the one two down. 

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, watching the way Stiles’ body adjusts to the weight on the mattress beside him. His hand clenching at the empty space Derek left behind when he got up. He slips his hand into his again. Letting some of his mate’s comfort seep into his own bones. Unwinding some of the wound up things in his body. Tuning his hearing to the sounds of the woods outside the window. The crickets, the peepers, the owl. He can hear a fox running along the side of the highway that’s empty of cars. He listens to the stream as it becomes a river and empties into the lake. The sound of the waves gently lapping shore, drawing sand in and out, in and out. Leaves that are starting to lose their chlorophyl coating, swaying in the breeze that’s beginning to smell like Autumn. Nature is preparing for Winter. Stocking dens with food, gorging to fatten up for the long season ahead. 

Derek can feel it in his bones just the same. Living his life in California, he’s not had the pleasure of spending an entire Autumn in a place that truly feels all four season of the yearly cycle. Wolves don’t hibernate, but the need for pack is strong in the winter months. Curling into each other in the coldest of nights to keep the chill off. 

Stiles will be home in time to get back to class. Derek will be home with a handful of weeks to get back to work, business as usual, make sure that Erica, Boyd, and Isaac managed to keep the place running without him. The seasons will shift and the pack will run with the equinox. They’ll visit the snow dusted forests in Canada and watch the Northern Lights. They’ll run and hunt and burrow together. For three days. Two nights. 

He finds himself longing to tell Stiles. To explain to him why he knows nature the way he does. To reveal himself in his true form. To tell him now and get it over with. Before this attachment has time to grow any further. 

He watches as a deep breath enters his mouth, expands his ribs, and slowly seeps back out, his body sinking into the mattress impossibly further. 

Maybe he has time. Maybe he has time to get to know him outside the challenge. To find a way to fit into his day-to-day life before he tells him. Before he allows him to see his real face and his real body. And maybe, maybe Stiles will understand.

This time the breath stalls, his eyes flit open, and his hand clamps down on Derek’s, “come to bed,” whispers past his soft lips.

He stands long enough to peel off the clothes that he put on to go down to the bar. The clothes that felt foreign and made his skin sensitive. Sliding under the covers and into the bubble of body heat. Stiles immediately adjusts to lay his head on Derek’s chest, right over his heart, throwing clumsy limbs over his body and pinning him in place. 

Derek takes a deep breath of the scent of him, leans lips against the crown of his head, and lingers.


	9. Everything Good Ends With A Kiss

Everything Good Ends With A Kiss

“Oh, oh, my, oh,” Stiles is on the counter, trying to climb the refrigerator, he’s pretty sure he can get on top of it, fold himself in half and stay there until that black wolf that’s watching him, looking like it’s laughing, goes away, “oh that is, that, I, was there some kind of hallucinogenic in that tea?”

So to be fair, Derek did warn him. He said, ‘Stiles, I have to tell you something,’ and he had his serious eyebrows on and everything. And Stiles said, ‘it’s either way too early in our relationship for this or way too late,’ and continued to half pay attention because there are very few things that involve all the clothes, that warrant Stiles’ full attention when he can easily give partial attention to five different things at one time and still get all five of them through all his processes to process at some point by the end of the day. 

And then Derek said, ‘I’m a werewolf’. And Stiles said, ‘nice try dude’. And then poof, there was a giant black wolf standing in the spot where Derek was just standing, just looking at Stiles with something that looked like the smile that Derek looks at him with when he’s doing something really stupid and spastic. Because Stiles was, in fact, doing something stupid and spastic and that’s just how he is, and that’s okay because climbing onto the counter in his boyfriend’s kitchen while shouting something like ‘don’t eat me’ and then trying to lodge himself between the fridge and ceiling is a totally normal reaction to a man who turns into a full blown wolf. A black wolf. Not really a black wolf. He’s got to be some kind of timber wolf, he’s too big to be an actual black wolf. But he’s got a black coat. The same color as Derek’s hair. And his glorious beard. And his glorious body hair. And oh, oh Hale, “oh. Oh, you were, oh. Derek? I’m not freaking out. Not at all freaking out. Not because of you anyway. I’m just freaking out because I thought you were kidding or something, and I thought that, oh. Oh please don’t let this be the reason we break up.”

He forces his fingers to open, stays on the countertop, because who wouldn’t? But squats down to extend his hand towards the wolf. The wolf who is sitting back on his haunches, tilting his head in curiosity or maybe he’s listening to Stiles’ body do all the stages of spasdom and waiting for the final phase before he does anything else. Or turns back into Derek, or is he waiting for Stiles to pet him?

“Derek, I kind of, um, need you to be a guy again so I can talk to you,” his hand is shaking a little bit, not from fear, it’s from adrenaline from just about getting eaten by a wolf. Because that is exactly what was going to happen. But the hand is extending, and that’s the important part. And the wolf is very gently nosing at it, “okay,” the cold, wet nose slides up Stiles' wrist and his hazel eyes stay on Stiles’ face. And that’s just weird that a wolf would have hazel eyes, isn’t it? Derek’s hazel eyes that Stiles is certain just contain all the colors of nature. 

“Derek,” it’s breathless with wonder when the image finally makes its way through all of Stiles’ lobes and actually begins to zap along all the synapses and processes, “holy shit, you so totally cheated at our challenge!”

And now that terribly beautiful wolf looks like he’s laughing! 

“I’m not kidding! You are a wolf, Derek! Like a full-blown, howl at the moon, chase rabbits, and dig dens kind of wolf and you did a twenty-one day survival challenge! And you’re a wolf! But I don’t remember there being any questions on the paperwork about ‘can you turn into a wolf?’ because that’s like not even something, that, wait, have you been like this all your life? How’d it happen? Is it genetic? Can anyone be a wolf? Or are you descended from like a long line of wolf-people who can roam the realms of both human and wolf and you, oh my god, Derek change back! You need to change back before I implode with questions! How have you not been caught and had, like, experiments done on you? How do you control it? How does, oh my god, will our children be wolves? Wait, that’s not even really a, we’ll get a surrogate though, so that is a possibility. Or is it like the old mythology stuff, is it done by bite? Oh my,” it’s happening, it’s really happening, Derek is turning from a wolf into a man. 

And now he’s a very naked man. And is it weird that Stiles rarely even notices nudity anymore? Or is it just a side effect from the challenge? Or is it just a side effect from spending every weekend all weekend naked with Derek? Naked. The whole time. Except for now of course, because who cooks naked? That just, that leads to burns in sensitive places. Not that Stiles would know from personal experience, he’s just heard. Is all.

“Do it again,” he’s all breathless and fluttery feeling, this time prepared to actually watch it happen. To actually watch as his limbs change and his body changes and his hair changes and his face changes and, “oh holy Hale, this is amazing.”

And it’s even more amazing when he’s naked man Derek again and he’s standing between Stiles’ knees now that he’s made it to the end of spazz attack, and he’s sitting calmly on the counter. Very calmly. So calmly, “you’re not mad?” Derek wonders when Stiles wraps his arms around his neck loosely and examines his man face.

“Why would I be mad? This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I just,” he blushes and it’s cute and it’s horrible because he’s maybe been insecure about this the entire time they’ve known each other. Which is three months now.

“I’m not kidding. This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” he repeats it, nice and slow, and seals it with a kiss, “you could have told me sooner. Is the only thing. I mean, you could have told me back in the woods. And we could have seriously fucked with production. Are you going to do an XL, because you totally should. It’s not cheating if it’s not some kind of requirement that all participants be fully, um, non-shifter? It’s totally genetic isn’t it? It’s your entire family, isn’t it? That’s why, that’s what, that’s, oh my Hale, that is why you left Beacon Hills, isn’t it?”

Derek gets halfway through a nod before Stiles interrupts him again, “who else knew? Does someone else know? Do the Argents know? Are the Argents…”

“Hunters.”

“Hunters! Hunters! Oh my god, I knew there was always something happening in Beacon Hills that I didn’t know about, I knew there was some reason, some big reason your mom left. I knew, holy Hale, they blackmailed her didn’t they? Gerard, he was such a… but you know, with Chris now being the one in charge, I bet you could talk and come up with some kind of a truce or something. He’s not a bad guy. Hunters like Little Red Riding Hood? Or hunters like we’re living, we’re actually living, in the middle of a supernatural teen romance novel? No, you know what? Kiss me Derek before I keep word vomiting all over the place.”

He’s grinning when he leans in. His lips a gentle caress against Stiles’. Sending chills up his spine and his toes curling on contact, “is that what the howling was in the woods?” he has time to interrupt with before Derek’s tongue darts out, passing through Stiles’ lips and tangling his up so it’s too busy to form anymore words for a very, very long time.

———————

“It’s still true, your mom makes the best cookies ever,” he’s propped up on one elbow, leaning over Derek and just letting his crumbs fall all over him. With the intention, of course, of licking them all off when he’s done. So now he knows the whole shebang, the whole shootin’ match, the whole entire Hale family history or lore. 

He re-met the family. And now that he knows their whole truth and nothing but the truth, he completely understands why they left Beacon Hills. And it’s not like they left them to the wolves (pun intended), if Gerard had lived longer, “wait, did something fishy happen? Was there some other reason for Gerard’s death that wasn’t a massive heart attack?”

Derek shrugs, “you’ll have to ask Chris Argent that question.”

“No way dude, I’m not afraid of anything, not really, but that guy? My friend Scott is dating his daughter. And his wife, she is terrifying. Like make your feet cold kind of terrifying. And to get to him, you have to get through her.”

Derek’s hand is warm on his back, his eyes are focused on Stiles’ face but he can tell that he’s no longer listening to the words coming out of his mouth, he’s just laying there listening to the tone and probably that whole heartbeat thing he told him about. It’s kind of a turn on that Derek can find him in a crowd just by the way his heart beats, “hey, we should play a game. With blindfolds,” he wiggles his eyebrows and Derek’s full focus returns to him.

“You? With a blindfold?”

“No, uh uh, no. You. With a blindfold.”

“A sex game?”

“Um, I was thinking something totally different to test your heartbeat listening skills. Like you have to find me in a crowd or something, but then I guess if you were wearing a blindfold in a crowd, that’d be just, so yes. Sex game. It is. A sex game. Derek. Thank you for asking.”

“I love you,” and he’s smiling fondly. 

“And that came out of left field,” Stiles can feel that his eyes are huge and his mouth is stuck open and he can’t figure out why that was the first thing out of his mouth instead of, “I love you too,” but if it’s the second thing then it’s still okay. And it’s especially okay if he seals it with a kiss. Because everything good ends with a kiss.

And a grin.

And a fluttery heart.

And the comfort of knowing they’ve got so much more ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snip, snap, snout this tale is told out. Thanks friends! I can officially say that is the least plotty multi-chapter thing I've ever written. It was fun though :)
> 
> Thanks for coming along - got any requests for this work or a follow-up? Make them :) Otherwise, maybe I'll see you on another fic sometime! You might be able to find me on tumblr or you can talk to me here because a good comment section really makes my day!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments appreciated :)
> 
> Stay healthy friends.


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